For those of you who read regularly, you've likely picked up on one of the themes of this blog-- recapturing innocence and simplicity. While I can't always say that my home life as a child was spectacular, I have great fondness and affection for those wild, banshee days away from home where I could run, be free, and explore. Those were the days, mind you, that didn't require a parent to be present on the playground or to have adults organize a play-date. Somehow whatever kids were around figured out what game to play, how to play it, and settled all disputes without an umpire. What an amazing concept!

My early teen years were mostly spent playing some form of baseball or the ancillary games based on baseball like Indian Ball, Three Grounders or a Fly, Hot Box, or Fuzz Ball. The neighborhood kids had a game for 2, 3, 4 people, really almost any number. Our most common game was Indian Ball though because you could play it with as few as 3 and as many as 8. Apparently, we weren't the only kids in St. Louis playing Indian Ball because here are the rules as played by fellow St. Louisan, Chris O'Leary. Of course, there are about a million variations.

Not only was I able to work on baseball skills during those games, in many ways those games helped you find out who you were and what values you held. You learned quickly who was willing to cheat to win and how you felt about it. You'd soon see who was a bulldog who refused to give up regardless of the score and who didn't have the stomach to lose. Over those long summers, you learned about playing for love of the game and not just the score. Happily, you learned what you were good at and, sadly, came to terms with what you might never be good at. The ballfield was a great place to learn how good a player you were and what kind of man you might be as well.

There are moments in time I wish I could hold forever. With the smell of sweat on a leather glove and the crack of a baseball on a real wood bat, those summers on a grassy field is one of them.

Annie and me

Recently while walking my dog, I saw a field that reminded me of the one I used to play on as a kid. In those quiet moments (see August 6) between chasing squirrels with Annie, I decided that I couldn't be alone in my longing for that time and those experiences.

After a few emails and a large dose of cajoling, I've gotten a rotating group of friends to come out and play Indian Ball over the last few weeks. We're all extremely rusty and the joints creak and ache, but it's been an amazingly rewarding experience thus far. One of my friends, John, said, "Oh my God, you're right! I'd forgotten how much time I spent doing this in 100 degree heat and how I never even felt it!" Michael told how much it meant to him just to be out with friends and doing something together that wasn't planned to the nth degree.

Who knows how long we'll do this? Life is busy and making time is hard, but I hope we can keep it going. I look forward so much to the game, the companionship, and simplicity of it all. I recommend it highly.

Note: Of course, this is a song you must know if you're an American. It may even be on the citizenship test. If it's not, it should be. Steve Goodman's version is probably my favorite one though.