Faded Non-Memories

I was reading an old post from unconquerable gladness (link to the right, I still don't know to insert links) about his first trip to Memorial Stadium (Baltimore). That led me to read a touching post from UG about Cal Ripken and about going to ballgames with his father.

And that led me to think of my own memories and then the screen went blank. No, this isn't going to turn into a "my Dad wasn't there to play catch with me" bullshit post. He wasn't and hell that sucked. My dad was a pretty angry guy who always working. He terrified me as a kid. He wasn't violent, but he was a yeller and an intimidating presence who ruled through fear. He basically made everyone around him feel like crap. He's not that guy anymore, but it doesn't matter because it is what we see and feel as kids that stays with us all our life. We can have all therapy in the world and it isn't going to change any of that. I can either now accept that my Dad didn't sit down with a pen and paper and make out a check list on how to screw up his family (although who knows, he just might have) and learn to forgive him and forgive myself for not being able to forgive him and get on with life or I can stew in bitterness for the rest of my days.

Bitterness has usually been the drug of choice in my family but I'm tired of that. I don't know how to move past it but like so many things I've learned in the past two years, it'll come if I'm willing.

But anyway, back to my ballgame memories. There are a few good ones. I don't remember the first ballgame I ever went to. I have three older brothers and they all went to Tiger games and even went to one of the games in the legendary 1968 series (Tigers lost, damn that Bob Gibson!). I don't know if I ever got to a Tigers game, I'm sure I did. The games I do remember were, for lack of a better phrase, fairly memorable. I saw Tom Seaver's last game as a Met in 1977. That was a class trip with my Hebrew school. The first game I remember going to see with my father was Yankees-Red Sox in 1978. I don't remember the date but it was fairly early in the season. It was a nasty crowd, 56,000 drunks chanting "Boston Sucks." There were fights everywhere, bottles flying. In other words, it was not a Sunday in the park. This was New York in the 1970s. It was scary. It was dangerous. It was also cool. The game was rain delayed throughout the night and eventually it was called after midnight. They finished the game and played another one the next day and if my memory is correct the Yanks lost both on their way to falling 14 games back. We know the rest of the story and later that year I did get to another game with my dad. They played the Indians and it was Yankee cup day. Everyone got a big mug with a team photo on it and a couple of Reggie Bars. Jackson hit a homer and those Reggie Bars went flying on the field. Not mine, I'd eaten them already.

I know you might say, gee your Dad did take you to some games, so settle down. Fair enough. But just so the record is straight, this all happened after my parents split and my dad moved into the city while we stayed in Jersey. Once my dad and mom's marriage ended (about ten years too late in my opinion), my dad tried his best to be a normal dad, but as I said earlier, the damage was kind of done. That said, I did like the bus ride into the city to visit (I was about 12 years old and would come in alone and he'd meet me at Port Authority (again, Times Square, 1978--not the Disney Land it has become). Today they'd lock my folks up for bad parenting, but in those days I think kids were a little more independent and maybe a little tougher. I know kids grow up fast these days but in other ways--thanks to technology--they don't. I don't know, that's just my opinion.

My dad lived on 23rd and 3rd in those days and the building he lived in is still there. Looks smaller now. Everything looks smaller now.