A Different Kind of Home Run

This week my son caught a ball at Fenway Park.

We had a quick stopover in Boston on our way to Maine and a friend generously offered us his tickets to a Red Sox game.

We’re not big baseball fans. And if you know anything about the sad saga that is the Colorado Rockies, you understand. But I couldn’t help but be swept up in the magic of Fenway. The stadium is iconic, on the bucket lists of so many people who love the sport and its history. As soon as we walked through the gate, I could feel the energy that transforms tourists into believers.

The smells of hot dogs and cotton candy passed down the row transported me back to my childhood. My shoes stuck to the spilled beer on the ground. They sold Cracker Jacks at the concession stand. (Yes, they still have prizes.) Young guys ran up and down the aisles balancing bins of lemonade on their heads, making me exhausted just watching them.

The crowd was totally enthralled from beginning to end. Waves of the wave rolled through our section. Fans cheered or jeered every single play. We swayed with the masses to Take Me Out to the Ballgame and belted out Sweet Caroline halfway through the eighth inning. The whole thing was so much bigger than I imagined and I was enchanted.

But nothing compared to the moment Crosby plucked that ball out of the air. The entire sequence is locked in my memory. The slow plummet of the white blur, the sea of hands raised high, and the flash of disbelief on Crosby’s face as he came down clutching the ball.

This moment would be one he’d remember for the rest of his life. He doesn’t know this now because he hasn’t lived long enough to appreciate those kinds of memories. But I have.

What a delight to know that he just pocketed a little profound and he doesn’t even realize it.

It’s one thing to experience significant memories as they unfold. But it’s quite another thing to witness them.

Sometimes sacred things happen when you least expect it, in a place where you least expect it. Sometimes it happens to you. But every once in a while you get a front row seat.

There’s a blessing in being in a story in which you’re not the hero, but a part of the supporting cast.

Remarkable things are unfolding all the time. We notice when they happen to us, but we miss out on so much if we just stop there. Life can be so much richer if we expand our purview, if we partner in others’ moments of marvel too.

So I’m going to try to pay better attention, try to keep my eyes open, and my hands open and lifted.

You never know what might fall out of the sky.