Ghosts

For only the second time since she graduated Elmhurst, Clare and I watched her alma mater play.  Yesterday, the Bluejays did battle with the Belles of St. Mary’s (I kid you not), sister school of Notre Dame University.  Sitting in the stands, I was a stranger in a strange land.

Never in four years of watching Clare play did we ever have weather for a home game as warm as what the Jays and Belles enjoyed.  Once I knew every player on the field.  Now, it was a passing acquaintance with those two seniors who were freshmen Clare’s last season.  As for the parents, there were two barely familiar faces and a mother’s voice I could never put a face to.  No one showed an ability to write the umpires like we did back in the day.  Where are all my old compatriots, working on the lawn or out for their first round of golf this year?  I miss them.

With the White Sox, I live and die far too much with every game; with Clare’s old high school and college teams, I have no standing anymore:  Your daughter is who?  She played when?  You here by yourself?  It’s good to have a young woman sitting next to you at times like this.  You don’t look so out of place that way.

Clare made the rounds, talking to those seniors she knew and the coaches.  Coach Mike, bless him, adores Clare as one of his greatest recruits; he’s pushing to get her in the Elmhurst Athletes’ Hall of Fame.  He’s always been nice to me as the father of the star, and I appreciate that.  The Bluejays split, winning the second game on two homeruns in the bottom of the seventh, a pinch hit and a walk-off.  Coach said the homers were for Clare.

After dinner, Clare called Michele to tell her what a good time she had watching the games with me.  I wonder if she sees ghosts the way I do.