Yesterday, Clare came by for
dinner, hot dogs from Lucky Dog on 16th Street and paczki from the
Oak Park Bakery. Now, that’s how you do
Fat Tuesday in these parts.
Talk followed food. We celebrated Daniel Palka getting a walk in
the bottom of the ninth with the White Sox down by a run to the Giants; Palka
scoring from first on a double by Adam Engel; and Engel scoring the winning run
on a single by Seby Zavala. Who cares if
it’s only spring training when it’s your favorites who’re doing the heavy
lifting? Then we argued over the matter
of baseball injuries. I think
ballplayers have reached the point of diminishing returns when it comes to
muscle mass. There comes a point, or so
I’d argue, when the body can’t absorb a violent swing; think Aaron Judge or
Giancarlo Stanton. The gym rat
disagrees.
But this was not a “turn back the
clock” night, and the daughter is married.
Her husband didn’t come with because he’s in school as part of a career
change. Chris left college coaching to
become a high school teacher and, with luck, coach. But first he has to take some classes in
order to get his teaching certificate.
He already has a high-school football
assistant-coaching job lined up, and at a place we know well. The summer between sixth and seventh grade,
Clare was playing on a summer high school softball team. Don’t tell her I said so, but she was that
good, at least hitting. Anyway, we were
playing this particular school Chris will be at, and we couldn’t find the
softball field. But now my son-in-law has
found the football field there.
Around and around we go in life,
connections made and remade. I made sure
Clare had two paczki to take home with her.
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