I love to have a catch. I may be over fifty now, but the love of being outside, on a patch of grass, and tossing that old Rawlings baseball back and forth with a friend or family member will NEVER get old to me.
Courtesy Inspired Pencil
The smell of the baseball mitt when you hold it to your nose. Cutting grass and flowers, and the feeling of your hand safely inside your ball glove’s protective padding, is like nothing else in the world to me. I am smiling now just describing it. It brings back memories from childhood in the yard of the house where I grew up in Pittsburgh.
What memories! My oldest brother released that perfect high toss for me to catch. What I would give to have him back with us for just a few more catches together. And my best friend, whom I grew up with, was covered in dirt from sliding hard during a game of Run-Down. I miss him a lot. I wish we could have another catch together, too. I never had the opportunity to play catch with my father. Unfortunately, he died on an operating table in July of 1975, when I was just three years old. I have, perhaps, one or two snapshot memories of my dad in my head. And, sadly, tossing a baseball with him isn’t one of them.
Oh, how I wish it were otherwise.
A few weeks ago, on a Friday evening, I texted my son, Ryan Jr., to ask what he was doing Saturday and if he would pick me up to play catch in the park where my friends and I played our childhood games, then we’d have a bite to eat. I did not hear anything back right away, so after an hour or so, I sent him a link to the YouTube video for country singer Cody Johnson’s song “Till You Can’t.” The song talks about missed opportunities, like going fishing with your dad or fixing up that classic car with your grandpa. It is about giving them a rain check until you can’t, because one day they will be gone.
Well, about five minutes after I sent that link, I got the response I was hoping to get.
We had a fantastic morning that Saturday, catching, chatting, and throwing that baseball back and forth, then going to breakfast. OK, so I used guilt to have a catch! Wouldn’t anyone?
The “having a catch” part is essential to me, but the chit-chat you have while you are doing it is priceless. You can talk about everything or nothing. It is a rare thing in life to find something that makes you smile, as the thought of those long-ago backyard catches. Baseball is nothing if not nostalgic. When I grew up, there was really no planning or organization involved in playing a ball.
Kids would show up, and we would get out there. My backyard was the biggest one of all my friends and was set up perfectly for wiffle ball. A mainstay for us was Home Run Derby. We even kept track of our home run numbers! I wish I could find a way to force myself to dream at night about those days spent around baseball with family and friends.
Do you know who I would LOVE to play catch with? The Pope.
It sounds impossible, but I am not so sure. The new Pope, Leo XIV, is an American. He was born and raised in Chicago. I have seen videos of him attending White Sox games. Recently, the Pope has been seen greeting the faithful in St. Peter’s Square at the Vatican and even pausing to pose for photographs with fellow baseball fans wearing baseball caps! I absolutely think he would have a catch. I don’t know if I will ever make it to Rome during his papacy, but if I do, I will guarantee you that I will take a baseball and two ball gloves with me (I looked it up, he’s right-handed). I will gladly wait along with everyone else, hoping to catch his eye and maybe get him to stop to have a quick catch with one of his faithful flock. What a story THAT would make!
But if I never make it to Rome and never get the chance to play catch with the holy father, it’s ok. My lady recently went out in the yard with me and we had a catch. And I had a catch with my son a few weeks ago. I am hoping that friends who read this may someday text or call me to do the same.
Hey, even if I can’t catch up with the Pope, it is still a blessing.
Love this!!