Talking

Clare and I have been talking a lot since the season ended about who the White Sox should hire to replace Tony La Russa in the dugout. We’re both pretty much in agreement that Miguel Cairo showed enough in the interim role to get the nod. My daughter also asked me, sort of, if she was doing the right thing with her son, with the mom putting a foam baseball in his fourteen-month-old hands and the father opting for a football. Sounds good to me. From what I gather, some parents want to get their kids on a Harvard track, ASAP, while others are content to shove a screen in their hands as soon as they’re big enough to hold one. Clare and Chris, bless their parental hearts, don’t want their son getting addicted to cartoons and video games before he can even talk. As for Harvard, it can wait. Leo was over the other day and found a pair of my shoes under the bed; this proved an endless source of delight. He lifted one of them up; inspected it all around; stuck a hand inside; and touched the outside. Back went the shoes under the bed, back went the baby to play with the shoes. “Do you know what he was doing?” I asked after our latest breakdown of managerial candidates. “He was learning about color, texture, size and weight. Those are all valuable lessons.” Along with throwing the right ball, of course.