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Blogs by Leslie P Garcia
Braves New World... 4/9/2004 9:09:50 PM
Hank Aaron's homerun, Mom, and world order Don't really understand blogs too well...a journal or diary for a world to see, when no one knows me? Still, writing electronically takes less toll now than finding a pen and paper...and if occasionally words touch kindred spirits, then how much the better.
The first week in Major League baseball is a big deal to me. Well, no. Braves baseball is a big deal. Has been for thirty years. The Atlanta Braves were dogs, then, usually pretty awful.
Went to see them one sultry June night as a birthday present. It was camera day, and I was in love with the second baseman. Woody Woodward. But I was too shy to take a picture of anyone.
Mom wanted me to take a picture of Hank Aaron. I left my camera at home so I wouldn't have to, though. Couldn't figure out why any of the Braves, as bad as they were then, would bother having their pictures taken with or by me.
Phil Niekro pitched. We lost.
But that doesn't matter now. Tuesday--the official opening day for me--was my first opening day without Mom. No telephone call telling me not to worry, the Braves always lose the first one. No brave voice saying if the Braves falter--seeing as how all the "real" Braves are gone--it sure would be nice if the Cubbies came through.
Mom and baseball will always be wrapped around each other in my thoughts, along with other, darker memories that have nothing to do with the sport or the players, and a lot to do with dysfunctional families. But that doesn't matter tonight, either.
Last night was the 30th anniversary of Hank Aaron's 715th homer. Hank Aaron...I wrote a poem when I was...17 or 18 I guess, if it's been 30 years. A poem, sadly, I hid from my father--because he was a racist who couldn't stand that Mom and I were rooting for Hank.
Mom hated the "pajamas" the Braves were wearing then--her one complaint about Hank's becoming the new home run king is that he did it wearing those "Godawful" uniforms, not the nice traditional ones. But I was away from home that night he made history, and I swear I heard Mom and my brothers go crazy, three hundred miles away. Mom and I were on the phone a minute or two after, celebrating.
Recently, I found my tribute to Hank. Thought about sending it to him. But everything's so different through the dark glasses of time and change. I know the poem's history. But 30 years later, would it seem trivial? Would it be worthy of an athlete I respect--one of not many--or would it be outdated? Worse, from the hand of someone who fought her father's rabid bigotry through much of a lifetime, would the poem condescend instead of honor?
The poem sits in a filing cabinet somewhere, likely lost again. But Mom would love reading it again, if she could, would love that Hank Aaron was honored last night. She'd wonder, with me, where the time has gone.
Say no one will catch Hank Aaron, if they stay off the steroids and the enhancers and just play, like he did.
She'd call and ask if I'd seen tonight's game. Say well, the Braves gave it a good shot. And hey--wouldn't hurt world peace if the Cubs won. Just once.
