Steve's Dad

Thursday, Halloween, October 31st was a hard anniversary for more than just me.

My buddy Steve posted this memory of his father and is graciously letting me share. 

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Twenty years ago today, my Dad took his last breath and the world lost a kind and gentle man. Twenty years... That really doesn't seem possible.

With the Red Sox winning the World Series last night, I think back to 1986. I had mixed feelings watching Game 6 that year, because I wanted the Sox to win but I had a pair of tickets to Game 7.

Man, that extra ticket made me so popular! Everybody wanted to go; it was just an impossible decision. All but one of my friends would be upset. So I decided I wasn't going to choose anyone until we knew there would actually be a 7th game.

Moments after the ball went through Buckner's legs, a room packed with friends turned to me and said "Sooo?" They all looked disappointed when I asked to use the phone. But nobody could argue with my choice when they heard me say "Hey Dad, want to go to the 7th game of the World Series?"

I miss you, Dad. Every day in the last 20 years has been better because of the time we had together. But I miss you.
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I asked Steve to tell me a little about his father. I knew, from long ago conversations, that he'd been a baseball player and a great gardener.

He played part of one season in Class D. Had to quit to go home and help out his parents. His specialties in the garden were his tomatoes and giant pumpkins. He came from the days when you got a job, you kept it. So he spent 56 years working for Sikorsky Aircraft.

Steve and I have been friends since just before dinosaurs were invented.  He lives down in Stratford Connecticut where he's a big advocate for the Stratford Center for the Arts and the American Shakepeare Festival, he's a tried and true Red Sox fan in a sea of Stinky Yankee enthusiasts and, like his father before him, Steve's a tremendous gardener.