Waiting

My daughter’s waiting for her baby to debut, I’m waiting for the White Sox to jell. Smart money’s on Clare. In a week or so we all assume new roles in what will be an expanded-extended family. Becoming a grandfather makes me think of my own father, who had to wait until he was 78 to welcome his one and only grandchild into the world. I know she never disappointed him and he always loved her. One summer afternoon Clare and I went to visit Grandma and Grandpa; we brought along a wiffle ball and bat, just in case. Clare had to be five, my dad 83. I pitched, Clare hit and Grandpa caught as best he could. The wiffle ball tore through Grandma’s Black-eyed Susans more than once that afternoon. No one complained. So, I have certain responsibilities to live up to. Until that day arrives, I pass the time watching to see if the Sox can figure things out to avoid the ignominy of going one series and done in the playoffs. Last night in Kansas City, Dallas Keuchel didn’t exactly ally my soon-to-be grandfatherly worries. Keuchel felt the need to feed his gopher not once, not twice but three times in a 4-3 loss to the Royals. I don’t care if they were all solo shots. Keuchel still lost, which is to say his team lost, too. Eloy Jimenez went 0-for-4 in his season’s debut. I would’ve preferred 3-for-4, at the least, but I can wait. A game, that is, or maybe two. After that, Grandpa might break out into a sweat.