It’s true that music can be a distraction—playing heavy metal while trying to finish one’s homework….blasting hard rock in the car and barely spotting the ambulance coming up on the left. However, more often, I’ve found music was my salvation.
Growing up in a family with mental illness, we were often isolated. Almost never did we have guests, except for Grandmother’s occasional visits from Illinois. Now and then we played with neighborhood children, but usually we limited our activities to the outdoors (in this pre-video games era). Music provided another and somehow broader world for me.
My father would take me to a pawnshop a few miles up the road, and the kindly owner approved my choices—usually classical music. My prized record was Vaughn Williams’ Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis. I’d originally bought the record because of the lush landscape cover photo. However, the hauntingly beautiful melody brought me to tears many times—and I was a person needed a good cry, whether I always realized it or not.
I also loved top 40 and listed to Casey Kasem’s countdown every week. The first summer we moved to Florida, I remember hearing “The Air that I Breathe,” and “Seasons in the Sun” constantly. My sister and I used to buy records for each other’s birthdays that we really liked and of course, they usually ended up with the buyer, not the recipient. I’d read to all types of music—dance—exercise--day dream—and of course, try to cope with life as well as I could.
I still pull out my LPs, CDs, and tapes (almost ready for the MP3 player one of these days) when I need to relieve myself of stress. Music is the best remedy for life’s aches that I know.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Why Baseball is the Best Sport
Even though the baseball season lasts from April through October, it can never be long enough for me. I absolutely agree with Bart Giamatti’s assessment of the end of the season: “It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone."
Why my devotion to this sport that can indeed bring me to tears? Admittedly, I don’t know all of the intricacies of this game—I’ve never even learned to pencil in a scorecard. But I certainly understand its beauty, its history, and its emotional impact.
When a double play is executed well, it resembles a carefully choreographed ballet. In fact, if one looks carefully at the entire ball field, all of the players are moving or preparing to move. As the bat meets the ball, the dance begins in earnest….the batter running to first—a fielder scooping up the ball—the first baseman reaching out his hand. Baseball is truly a beautifully choreographed art. One time when I was watching the Atlanta Braves, the sound went out; the network played opera music while the technical glitch was worked on. Only in a baseball game could this substitution have worked. Like opera, baseball has its overture (batting practice), its various acts (1st through 8th innings) and then its climax (the finale)—which can be tragic or comic, depending on which team you’re rooting for.
Baseball also has a deep-rooted history and goes back to the Civil War—and even before this. Soldiers played baseball to relieve boredom between battles in our nation’s bloodiest war ever. The Black Sox tore at people’s faith in celebrities, while Babe Ruth restored it. Baseball integrated before the public schools were legally held responsible. During war, tumult, good and bad economic times, baseball has endured and often helped Americans endure.
In fact, baseball’s emotional impact is its greatest legacy. Field of Dreams resonated with so many people because of the poignant father-son catching scene at the end of the movie. Many individuals, myself included, have found baseball to be the bridge between two very different people in the same family. My father was profoundly mentally ill and understandably, out relationship was often strained. But we could always agree on baseball. Every season we picked the possible winners and I won most of the time—or at least Dad said I did. I’m glad he lived long enough to see our beloved White Sox win the World Series in 2005. I called him to exult, playing the “Go Go White Sox” song for him on the telephone.
When the baseball season ends, I admittedly feel a kind of emptiness. I look forward to spring training beginning and have resolved to travel to Arizona one of these days and catch some Sox pre-season games. Winter can be a difficult time, often bereft of sun, and always lacking greenery and baseball. But spring brings renewal—more light, vegetation, and most important, baseball.
Why my devotion to this sport that can indeed bring me to tears? Admittedly, I don’t know all of the intricacies of this game—I’ve never even learned to pencil in a scorecard. But I certainly understand its beauty, its history, and its emotional impact.
When a double play is executed well, it resembles a carefully choreographed ballet. In fact, if one looks carefully at the entire ball field, all of the players are moving or preparing to move. As the bat meets the ball, the dance begins in earnest….the batter running to first—a fielder scooping up the ball—the first baseman reaching out his hand. Baseball is truly a beautifully choreographed art. One time when I was watching the Atlanta Braves, the sound went out; the network played opera music while the technical glitch was worked on. Only in a baseball game could this substitution have worked. Like opera, baseball has its overture (batting practice), its various acts (1st through 8th innings) and then its climax (the finale)—which can be tragic or comic, depending on which team you’re rooting for.
Baseball also has a deep-rooted history and goes back to the Civil War—and even before this. Soldiers played baseball to relieve boredom between battles in our nation’s bloodiest war ever. The Black Sox tore at people’s faith in celebrities, while Babe Ruth restored it. Baseball integrated before the public schools were legally held responsible. During war, tumult, good and bad economic times, baseball has endured and often helped Americans endure.
In fact, baseball’s emotional impact is its greatest legacy. Field of Dreams resonated with so many people because of the poignant father-son catching scene at the end of the movie. Many individuals, myself included, have found baseball to be the bridge between two very different people in the same family. My father was profoundly mentally ill and understandably, out relationship was often strained. But we could always agree on baseball. Every season we picked the possible winners and I won most of the time—or at least Dad said I did. I’m glad he lived long enough to see our beloved White Sox win the World Series in 2005. I called him to exult, playing the “Go Go White Sox” song for him on the telephone.
When the baseball season ends, I admittedly feel a kind of emptiness. I look forward to spring training beginning and have resolved to travel to Arizona one of these days and catch some Sox pre-season games. Winter can be a difficult time, often bereft of sun, and always lacking greenery and baseball. But spring brings renewal—more light, vegetation, and most important, baseball.
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