Last week while waiting to pick up our oldest daughter at the airport, I noticed that the security area for departures was only several yards from the arrivals area. I witnessed a young soldier’s brave good-byes as he held back tears, giving his wife one last hug---and then one more--- while she, teary eyed, finally let go even as she held hands with her sister or close female friend, slowly walking away, repeatedly looking back over her shoulder toward her husband, leaning with her every step on her companion. Almost simultaneously, only several feet from them, I witnessed a middle-aged couple greeting with open arms what appeared to be their teenage granddaughter. They embraced as if they hadn’t seen each other for a long time. All three were smiling broadly, interlocking arms as they walked away together. “Do you feel like getting a bite to eat?” I heard the grandmother ask the granddaughter, who coyly replied, “Sure.” The three floated on wings of joy.
Although they are only a few yards apart, the departure and arrival areas are separated by two worlds: hello and goodbye. As I anxiously anticipated seeing my daughter, I thought, “Next week I’ll be there on the departure side. My time of sadness will come.” Then in an instant I saw my daughter smiling (I nicknamed her “Smiles,” long ago) as she reached out to me for a welcome home hug.
Although I have no concrete evidence to prove it, I contend that the space between life and death---this side and the other side--- is a closer distance than that separating the departure and arrival sites at Louisville’s International Airport. And although we may not all be living dangerously, we are living on the edge, never knowing when our time of departure here will announce our arrival there.
Heaven may be closer than you or I think. While the New Testament Scriptures speak of heaven as a place, it is not limited to boundaries as we know them. For all we know, heaven could be in another realm of time and space, adjacent to us at this very moment, here where only this life separates us from that other place, that different dimension.
One passes through the departure area; another walks past the arrival gate. We say, “Goodbye,” Someone else says, “Hello.” Only a few steps and eternity separates the two worlds. A thin veneer of life appears to our time and space limited minds as a veritably indomitable wall, a barrier blocking us from a life we don’t know and often fear.
Five days later it was my time. Instead of being the happy greeter to a welcome home party, I was saying “Goodbye” to the daughter I would not see again until…until who knows? As my wife and I hugged and then waved bye, we had a longing for security in our hearts. We were saying “Goodbye,” but who would say “Hello?”
As I glanced back at the departure security check adjacent to the arrival area where people were leaving and arriving simultaneously, people oblivious to the others side’s presence, I was reminded that the God who is at our departure and arrival is also most aware of where we are at every point and moment in between, even when we can’t, and sometimes don’t want, to see it. The One who is waiting for us on the Other Side to welcome us home assures us of our safe arrival. In the instant we say, “Goodbye,” He is already there, saying, “Hello.”
Starting our car to leave the airport, I found a familiar and comforting security in that. I had heard it before, “I am with you always, even unto the end of the age.” We say “Goodbye,” even as He is saying, “Hello.”
That’s true for here and for there. For now and for then. Forever and for always.
Life Matters is written by David B.Whitlock, Ph.D. David’s email is drdavid@davidbwhitock.com. His website is DavidBWhitlock.com.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Is it Time to "Get Low"?
I’ve thought about preaching my own funeral. Really. I’m serious. Oh, I would pawn the obituary on a previously selected person, preferably someone who knew me, as opposed to startling some hapless soul who happens to arrive early at the funeral, “Hey, would you mind reading this?” But the sermon, prerecorded of course, I prefer to reserve for myself, rather than depending on some distracted preacher in a hurry to get the thing done and not miss tee time, or fishing, a ball game, or a soap opera.
When I shared this with my wife, her response, after making sure I hadn’t received a bad report from my physician, was, “That’s just plain weird, especially the part about a prerecorded funeral sermon.”
“But they play prerecord music at funerals all the time,” I protested.
“Not music of the deceased!”
I suppose she has a point. Unlike music, a funeral sermon is not something we necessarily enjoy hearing. “Don’t you think today is a good day for a funeral sermon, dear?”
“No.”
I had dismissed the idea of showing up for my own funeral until last week when I saw the movie, “Get Low,” starring Robert Duvall, with Bill Murray and Sissy Spacek. Duvall plays the character, Felix Bush, a self-imposed hermit who has lived alone in the woods for 40 years. The movie gets it title from the first conversation Duvall has with the financially troubled funeral director, played by grim Bill Murray, who is thrilled at the monetary prospects of a funeral. “It’s about time for me to get low,” Duvall says as he states his intentions to plan his own funeral.
The laconic Duvall has determined to show up for his own mock funeral where people will tell stories about what a strange and mysterious person he is. The film is based loosely on the story of a man in Tennessee named Felix “Bush” Breaseale, who threw his own funeral party back in the 1930s. Over 12,000 people showed up, creating something of a national sensation: the event was covered by the AP and Life magazine.
In “Get Low,” Bush has a secret that he needs and wants to tell, but isn’t sure he can. It’s the reason he has imprisoned himself in his woods. “Getting low,” takes on a deeper meaning than simply preplanning a funeral. It connotes the humility that comes with sharing something painful about our past, something that has shamed us, burdened us, driven us into a hermitage of our own choosing--- an isolation than allows us to live in denial of who we are meant to be, disconnected from those who could benefit from our mistakes. In that secret hiding place deep within our soul, we bury the thing that needs telling, supposing it will go to the grave with us, even as we intuitively sense that as we live, that thing of our past creates a false self, not the one we were meant to be.
Forgiving others is not always easy, and forgiving ourselves can be even harder still. Voices of the past lock us in a prison of our own making, haunting us with the verdict: “Unforgiven.”
And I thought a funeral party would be more fun than the sermon. But as Felix Bush experienced, “getting low,” is not that easy; like Bush, we have something that needs to be told, but we aren’t sure we can say it; it’s like having a dream where we’re urgently trying to shout for help but can’t utter a word. Fearful that we might die choking on the words, we silence what we need to share.
I think I’ll let the only One who can truly say it, do it for me: “Thy sins are forgiven. Thy faith has made thee whole.”
That’s a good thing to hear if you plan on showing up at your own funeral; that’s a good thing to receive before you get there, before it’s too late to “get low.”
“Life Matters,” is written by David B. Whitlock, Ph.D. His email is drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com. Dr. Whitlock’s website is davidbwhitlock.com.
When I shared this with my wife, her response, after making sure I hadn’t received a bad report from my physician, was, “That’s just plain weird, especially the part about a prerecorded funeral sermon.”
“But they play prerecord music at funerals all the time,” I protested.
“Not music of the deceased!”
I suppose she has a point. Unlike music, a funeral sermon is not something we necessarily enjoy hearing. “Don’t you think today is a good day for a funeral sermon, dear?”
“No.”
I had dismissed the idea of showing up for my own funeral until last week when I saw the movie, “Get Low,” starring Robert Duvall, with Bill Murray and Sissy Spacek. Duvall plays the character, Felix Bush, a self-imposed hermit who has lived alone in the woods for 40 years. The movie gets it title from the first conversation Duvall has with the financially troubled funeral director, played by grim Bill Murray, who is thrilled at the monetary prospects of a funeral. “It’s about time for me to get low,” Duvall says as he states his intentions to plan his own funeral.
The laconic Duvall has determined to show up for his own mock funeral where people will tell stories about what a strange and mysterious person he is. The film is based loosely on the story of a man in Tennessee named Felix “Bush” Breaseale, who threw his own funeral party back in the 1930s. Over 12,000 people showed up, creating something of a national sensation: the event was covered by the AP and Life magazine.
In “Get Low,” Bush has a secret that he needs and wants to tell, but isn’t sure he can. It’s the reason he has imprisoned himself in his woods. “Getting low,” takes on a deeper meaning than simply preplanning a funeral. It connotes the humility that comes with sharing something painful about our past, something that has shamed us, burdened us, driven us into a hermitage of our own choosing--- an isolation than allows us to live in denial of who we are meant to be, disconnected from those who could benefit from our mistakes. In that secret hiding place deep within our soul, we bury the thing that needs telling, supposing it will go to the grave with us, even as we intuitively sense that as we live, that thing of our past creates a false self, not the one we were meant to be.
Forgiving others is not always easy, and forgiving ourselves can be even harder still. Voices of the past lock us in a prison of our own making, haunting us with the verdict: “Unforgiven.”
And I thought a funeral party would be more fun than the sermon. But as Felix Bush experienced, “getting low,” is not that easy; like Bush, we have something that needs to be told, but we aren’t sure we can say it; it’s like having a dream where we’re urgently trying to shout for help but can’t utter a word. Fearful that we might die choking on the words, we silence what we need to share.
I think I’ll let the only One who can truly say it, do it for me: “Thy sins are forgiven. Thy faith has made thee whole.”
That’s a good thing to hear if you plan on showing up at your own funeral; that’s a good thing to receive before you get there, before it’s too late to “get low.”
“Life Matters,” is written by David B. Whitlock, Ph.D. His email is drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com. Dr. Whitlock’s website is davidbwhitlock.com.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
The Dream is Bigger Than the Game
It had taken us three years to accomplish our goal, but we did it, last weekend.
Three years ago my oldest son, Dave, and I talked about our wish list for the baseball parks we wanted to visit. That included some of the oldest and most prestigious stadiums in professional baseball: Fenway in Boston, Yankee Stadium (now the new Yankee Stadium, not the one we dreamed of) in New York City, and Wrigley Field in Chicago. Of course, the new Busch Stadium, home of our favorite team, the St. Louis Cardinals, was a must. Dodger Stadium was high on our list too, as was the Great American Ball Park, home of the Cincinnati Reds.
But time---I do have three other kids, plus Dave and I didn’t want to be away for more than a day---and money, we didn’t have much, forced us to narrow our list to the ballparks within a day’s drive that wouldn’t require an overnight stay. That left three ballparks: Bush Stadium (St. Louis), Wrigley Field (Chicago), and the Great American Ball Park (Cincinnati).
We started in Chicago three years ago (Wrigley turned out to be my favorite ballpark, although it doesn’t host my favorite team) where we watched the Cubbies defeat our Cards, moved last year to St. Louis where our Redbirds beat the Orioles, and just last weekend we ended up in Cincinnati where we witnessed the Reds pounding of the Cubs.
As we were driving back after the Cincinnati game, we thought of making another run of it, a new three year plan: why not the new Yankee Stadium, the Oriole Park at Camden Yards in Baltimore, and Nationals Park in D.C.? How about an East Coast Baseball Dream? “Yeah,” I said, “that would be awesome,” even as I was thinking of the time and money, mainly the money.
After leaving Dave at Centre College in Danville, KY., I drove on alone to Lebanon, KY., and deep in my thoughts, wondered what was so important about those games. The atmosphere of the ballpark is great, but it’s more than that. You couldn’t pay me to go to a ball game and sit by myself. Then I reflected on the movie, Field of Dreams, and the words of “Terrence Mann,” played by James Earl Jones, who said, in that luxurious voice of his: “People will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom…And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.”
I got it. We went to Wrigley, and Busch, and the Great American Ball Park, not to study stadium architecture, but to relive baseball moments of former days: summer evenings at the Astrodome in Houston, TX., a blistering afternoon at the Ball Park in Arlington, TX., many a sweltering practice at the Prien Lake Little League Park in Lake Charles, LA., and our own imaginary games (our team always managed to win) in our front yard everywhere we’ve lived. And with every ball park we enter, those memories are resurrected; they’re embedded in our psyche, drawn forth with the aroma of fresh, roasted peanuts, the echo of the crowd in the stadium’s corridors, and the shout of the umpire, “Batter Up!” Ghost ballparks come alive too, like the old Sportsman’s Park, predecessor of Busch Stadium, where in 1963, I sat enthralled, watching Stan the Man Musial in his last year of play, thinking to myself as I scanned the stadium while chomping down on a hot dog as big as myself, “I’m in a real baseball stadium.”
I don’t know where we will be next year---maybe we’ll revisit one of the ballparks, but wherever we are, I want to be all there, living a dream--- completely alive in that moment.
“Thanks for taking me, Dad, we did it.”
‘You’re welcome, Dave, but we’re not done yet. Keep dreaming.”
Life Matters is written by David B. Whitlock, Ph.D. His email is drdavid@davidbwhitock.com. You can also visit David’s website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
It had taken us three years to accomplish our goal, but we did it, last weekend.
Three years ago my oldest son, Dave, and I talked about our wish list for the baseball parks we wanted to visit. That included some of the oldest and most prestigious stadiums in professional baseball: Fenway in Boston, Yankee Stadium (now the new Yankee Stadium, not the one we dreamed of) in New York City, and Wrigley Field in Chicago. Of course, the new Busch Stadium, home of our favorite team, the St. Louis Cardinals, was a must. Dodger Stadium was high on our list too, as was the Great American Ball Park, home of the Cincinnati Reds.
But time---I do have three other kids, plus Dave and I didn’t want to be away for more than a day---and money, we didn’t have much, forced us to narrow our list to the ballparks within a day’s drive that wouldn’t require an overnight stay. That left three ballparks: Bush Stadium (St. Louis), Wrigley Field (Chicago), and the Great American Ball Park (Cincinnati).
We started in Chicago three years ago (Wrigley turned out to be my favorite ballpark, although it doesn’t host my favorite team) where we watched the Cubbies defeat our Cards, moved last year to St. Louis where our Redbirds beat the Orioles, and just last weekend we ended up in Cincinnati where we witnessed the Reds pounding of the Cubs.
As we were driving back after the Cincinnati game, we thought of making another run of it, a new three year plan: why not the new Yankee Stadium, the Oriole Park at Camden Yards in Baltimore, and Nationals Park in D.C.? How about an East Coast Baseball Dream? “Yeah,” I said, “that would be awesome,” even as I was thinking of the time and money, mainly the money.
After leaving Dave at Centre College in Danville, KY., I drove on alone to Lebanon, KY., and deep in my thoughts, wondered what was so important about those games. The atmosphere of the ballpark is great, but it’s more than that. You couldn’t pay me to go to a ball game and sit by myself. Then I reflected on the movie, Field of Dreams, and the words of “Terrence Mann,” played by James Earl Jones, who said, in that luxurious voice of his: “People will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom…And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.”
I got it. We went to Wrigley, and Busch, and the Great American Ball Park, not to study stadium architecture, but to relive baseball moments of former days: summer evenings at the Astrodome in Houston, TX., a blistering afternoon at the Ball Park in Arlington, TX., many a sweltering practice at the Prien Lake Little League Park in Lake Charles, LA., and our own imaginary games (our team always managed to win) in our front yard everywhere we’ve lived. And with every ball park we enter, those memories are resurrected; they’re embedded in our psyche, drawn forth with the aroma of fresh, roasted peanuts, the echo of the crowd in the stadium’s corridors, and the shout of the umpire, “Batter Up!” Ghost ballparks come alive too, like the old Sportsman’s Park, predecessor of Busch Stadium, where in 1963, I sat enthralled, watching Stan the Man Musial in his last year of play, thinking to myself as I scanned the stadium while chomping down on a hot dog as big as myself, “I’m in a real baseball stadium.”
I don’t know where we will be next year---maybe we’ll revisit one of the ballparks, but wherever we are, I want to be all there, living a dream--- completely alive in that moment.
“Thanks for taking me, Dad, we did it.”
‘You’re welcome, Dave, but we’re not done yet. Keep dreaming.”
Life Matters is written by David B. Whitlock, Ph.D. His email is drdavid@davidbwhitock.com. You can also visit David’s website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
“The Dream is Bigger than the Game”
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D.
It had taken us three years to accomplish our goal, but we did it, last weekend.
Three years ago my oldest son, Dave, and I talked about our wish list for the baseball parks we wanted to visit. That included some of the oldest and most prestigious stadiums in professional baseball: Fenway in Boston, Yankee Stadium (now the new Yankee Stadium, not the one we dreamed of) in New York City, and Wrigley Field in Chicago. Of course, the new Busch Stadium, home of our favorite team, the St. Louis Cardinals, was a must. Dodger Stadium was high on our list too, as was the Great American Ball Park, home of the Cincinnati Reds.
But time---I do have three other kids, plus Dave and I didn’t want to be away for more than a day---and money, we didn’t have much, forced us to narrow our list to the ballparks within a day’s drive that wouldn’t require an overnight stay. That left three ballparks: Bush Stadium (St. Louis), Wrigley Field (Chicago), and the Great American Ball Park (Cincinnati).
We started in Chicago three years ago (Wrigley turned out to be my favorite ballpark, although it doesn’t host my favorite team) where we watched the Cubbies defeat our Cards, moved last year to St. Louis where our Redbirds beat the Orioles, and just last weekend we ended up in Cincinnati where we witnessed the Reds pounding of the Cubs.
As we were driving back after the Cincinnati game, we thought of making another run of it, a new three year plan: why not the new Yankee Stadium, the Oriole Park at Camden Yards in Baltimore, and Nationals Park in D.C.? How about an East Coast Baseball Dream? “Yeah,” I said, “that would be awesome,” even as I was thinking of the time and money, mainly the money.
After leaving Dave at Centre College in Danville, KY., I drove on alone to Lebanon, KY., and deep in my thoughts, wondered what was so important about those games. The atmosphere of the ballpark is great, but it’s more than that. You couldn’t pay me to go to a ball game and sit by myself. Then I reflected on the movie, Field of Dreams, and the words of “Terrence Mann,” played by James Earl Jones, who said, in that luxurious voice of his: “People will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom…And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.”
I got it. We went to Wrigley, and Busch, and the Great American Ball Park, not to study stadium architecture, but to relive baseball moments of former days: summer evenings at the Astrodome in Houston, TX., a blistering afternoon at the Ball Park in Arlington, TX., many a sweltering practice at the Prien Lake Little League Park in Lake Charles, LA., and our own imaginary games (our team always managed to win) in our front yard everywhere we’ve lived. And with every ball park we enter, those memories are resurrected; they’re embedded in our psyche, drawn forth with the aroma of fresh, roasted peanuts, the echo of the crowd in the stadium’s corridors, and the shout of the umpire, “Batter Up!” Ghost ballparks come alive too, like the old Sportsman’s Park, predecessor of Busch Stadium, where in 1963, I sat enthralled, watching Stan the Man Musial in his last year of play, thinking to myself as I scanned the stadium while chomping down on a hot dog as big as myself, “I’m in a real baseball stadium.”
I don’t know where we will be next year---maybe we’ll revisit one of the ballparks, but wherever we are, I want to be all there, living a dream--- completely alive in that moment.
“Thanks for taking me, Dad, we did it.”
‘You’re welcome, Dave, but we’re not done yet. Keep dreaming.”
Life Matters is written by David B. Whitlock, Ph.D. His email is drdavid@davidbwhitock.com. You can also visit David’s website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
Three years ago my oldest son, Dave, and I talked about our wish list for the baseball parks we wanted to visit. That included some of the oldest and most prestigious stadiums in professional baseball: Fenway in Boston, Yankee Stadium (now the new Yankee Stadium, not the one we dreamed of) in New York City, and Wrigley Field in Chicago. Of course, the new Busch Stadium, home of our favorite team, the St. Louis Cardinals, was a must. Dodger Stadium was high on our list too, as was the Great American Ball Park, home of the Cincinnati Reds.
But time---I do have three other kids, plus Dave and I didn’t want to be away for more than a day---and money, we didn’t have much, forced us to narrow our list to the ballparks within a day’s drive that wouldn’t require an overnight stay. That left three ballparks: Bush Stadium (St. Louis), Wrigley Field (Chicago), and the Great American Ball Park (Cincinnati).
We started in Chicago three years ago (Wrigley turned out to be my favorite ballpark, although it doesn’t host my favorite team) where we watched the Cubbies defeat our Cards, moved last year to St. Louis where our Redbirds beat the Orioles, and just last weekend we ended up in Cincinnati where we witnessed the Reds pounding of the Cubs.
As we were driving back after the Cincinnati game, we thought of making another run of it, a new three year plan: why not the new Yankee Stadium, the Oriole Park at Camden Yards in Baltimore, and Nationals Park in D.C.? How about an East Coast Baseball Dream? “Yeah,” I said, “that would be awesome,” even as I was thinking of the time and money, mainly the money.
After leaving Dave at Centre College in Danville, KY., I drove on alone to Lebanon, KY., and deep in my thoughts, wondered what was so important about those games. The atmosphere of the ballpark is great, but it’s more than that. You couldn’t pay me to go to a ball game and sit by myself. Then I reflected on the movie, Field of Dreams, and the words of “Terrence Mann,” played by James Earl Jones, who said, in that luxurious voice of his: “People will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom…And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.”
I got it. We went to Wrigley, and Busch, and the Great American Ball Park, not to study stadium architecture, but to relive baseball moments of former days: summer evenings at the Astrodome in Houston, TX., a blistering afternoon at the Ball Park in Arlington, TX., many a sweltering practice at the Prien Lake Little League Park in Lake Charles, LA., and our own imaginary games (our team always managed to win) in our front yard everywhere we’ve lived. And with every ball park we enter, those memories are resurrected; they’re embedded in our psyche, drawn forth with the aroma of fresh, roasted peanuts, the echo of the crowd in the stadium’s corridors, and the shout of the umpire, “Batter Up!” Ghost ballparks come alive too, like the old Sportsman’s Park, predecessor of Busch Stadium, where in 1963, I sat enthralled, watching Stan the Man Musial in his last year of play, thinking to myself as I scanned the stadium while chomping down on a hot dog as big as myself, “I’m in a real baseball stadium.”
I don’t know where we will be next year---maybe we’ll revisit one of the ballparks, but wherever we are, I want to be all there, living a dream--- completely alive in that moment.
“Thanks for taking me, Dad, we did it.”
‘You’re welcome, Dave, but we’re not done yet. Keep dreaming.”
Life Matters is written by David B. Whitlock, Ph.D. His email is drdavid@davidbwhitock.com. You can also visit David’s website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
It had taken us three years to accomplish our goal, but we did it, last weekend.
Three years ago my oldest son, Dave, and I talked about our wish list for the baseball parks we wanted to visit. That included some of the oldest and most prestigious stadiums in professional baseball: Fenway in Boston, Yankee Stadium (now the new Yankee Stadium, not the one we dreamed of) in New York City, and Wrigley Field in Chicago. Of course, the new Busch Stadium, home of our favorite team, the St. Louis Cardinals, was a must. Dodger Stadium was high on our list too, as was the Great American Ball Park, home of the Cincinnati Reds.
But time---I do have three other kids, plus Dave and I didn’t want to be away for more than a day---and money, we didn’t have much, forced us to narrow our list to the ballparks within a day’s drive that wouldn’t require an overnight stay. That left three ballparks: Bush Stadium (St. Louis), Wrigley Field (Chicago), and the Great American Ball Park (Cincinnati).
We started in Chicago three years ago (Wrigley turned out to be my favorite ballpark, although it doesn’t host my favorite team) where we watched the Cubbies defeat our Cards, moved last year to St. Louis where our Redbirds beat the Orioles, and just last weekend we ended up in Cincinnati where we witnessed the Reds pounding of the Cubs.
As we were driving back after the Cincinnati game, we thought of making another run of it, a new three year plan: why not the new Yankee Stadium, the Oriole Park at Camden Yards in Baltimore, and Nationals Park in D.C.? How about an East Coast Baseball Dream? “Yeah,” I said, “that would be awesome,” even as I was thinking of the time and money, mainly the money.
After leaving Dave at Centre College in Danville, KY., I drove on alone to Lebanon, KY., and deep in my thoughts, wondered what was so important about those games. The atmosphere of the ballpark is great, but it’s more than that. You couldn’t pay me to go to a ball game and sit by myself. Then I reflected on the movie, Field of Dreams, and the words of “Terrence Mann,” played by James Earl Jones, who said, in that luxurious voice of his: “People will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom…And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.”
I got it. We went to Wrigley, and Busch, and the Great American Ball Park, not to study stadium architecture, but to relive baseball moments of former days: summer evenings at the Astrodome in Houston, TX., a blistering afternoon at the Ball Park in Arlington, TX., many a sweltering practice at the Prien Lake Little League Park in Lake Charles, LA., and our own imaginary games (our team always managed to win) in our front yard everywhere we’ve lived. And with every ball park we enter, those memories are resurrected; they’re embedded in our psyche, drawn forth with the aroma of fresh, roasted peanuts, the echo of the crowd in the stadium’s corridors, and the shout of the umpire, “Batter Up!” Ghost ballparks come alive too, like the old Sportsman’s Park, predecessor of Busch Stadium, where in 1963, I sat enthralled, watching Stan the Man Musial in his last year of play, thinking to myself as I scanned the stadium while chomping down on a hot dog as big as myself, “I’m in a real baseball stadium.”
I don’t know where we will be next year---maybe we’ll revisit one of the ballparks, but wherever we are, I want to be all there, living a dream--- completely alive in that moment.
“Thanks for taking me, Dad, we did it.”
‘You’re welcome, Dave, but we’re not done yet. Keep dreaming.”
Life Matters is written by David B. Whitlock, Ph.D. His email is drdavid@davidbwhitock.com. You can also visit David’s website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
“The Dream is Bigger than the Game”
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D.
It had taken us three years to accomplish our goal, but we did it, last weekend.
Three years ago my oldest son, Dave, and I talked about our wish list for the baseball parks we wanted to visit. That included some of the oldest and most prestigious stadiums in professional baseball: Fenway in Boston, Yankee Stadium (now the new Yankee Stadium, not the one we dreamed of) in New York City, and Wrigley Field in Chicago. Of course, the new Busch Stadium, home of our favorite team, the St. Louis Cardinals, was a must. Dodger Stadium was high on our list too, as was the Great American Ball Park, home of the Cincinnati Reds.
But time---I do have three other kids, plus Dave and I didn’t want to be away for more than a day---and money, we didn’t have much, forced us to narrow our list to the ballparks within a day’s drive that wouldn’t require an overnight stay. That left three ballparks: Bush Stadium (St. Louis), Wrigley Field (Chicago), and the Great American Ball Park (Cincinnati).
We started in Chicago three years ago (Wrigley turned out to be my favorite ballpark, although it doesn’t host my favorite team) where we watched the Cubbies defeat our Cards, moved last year to St. Louis where our Redbirds beat the Orioles, and just last weekend we ended up in Cincinnati where we witnessed the Reds pounding of the Cubs.
As we were driving back after the Cincinnati game, we thought of making another run of it, a new three year plan: why not the new Yankee Stadium, the Oriole Park at Camden Yards in Baltimore, and Nationals Park in D.C.? How about an East Coast Baseball Dream? “Yeah,” I said, “that would be awesome,” even as I was thinking of the time and money, mainly the money.
After leaving Dave at Centre College in Danville, KY., I drove on alone to Lebanon, KY., and deep in my thoughts, wondered what was so important about those games. The atmosphere of the ballpark is great, but it’s more than that. You couldn’t pay me to go to a ball game and sit by myself. Then I reflected on the movie, Field of Dreams, and the words of “Terrence Mann,” played by James Earl Jones, who said, in that luxurious voice of his: “People will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom…And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.”
I got it. We went to Wrigley, and Busch, and the Great American Ball Park, not to study stadium architecture, but to relive baseball moments of former days: summer evenings at the Astrodome in Houston, TX., a blistering afternoon at the Ball Park in Arlington, TX., many a sweltering practice at the Prien Lake Little League Park in Lake Charles, LA., and our own imaginary games (our team always managed to win) in our front yard everywhere we’ve lived. And with every ball park we enter, those memories are resurrected; they’re embedded in our psyche, drawn forth with the aroma of fresh, roasted peanuts, the echo of the crowd in the stadium’s corridors, and the shout of the umpire, “Batter Up!” Ghost ballparks come alive too, like the old Sportsman’s Park, predecessor of Busch Stadium, where in 1963, I sat enthralled, watching Stan the Man Musial in his last year of play, thinking to myself as I scanned the stadium while chomping down on a hot dog as big as myself, “I’m in a real baseball stadium.”
I don’t know where we will be next year---maybe we’ll revisit one of the ballparks, but wherever we are, I want to be all there, living a dream--- completely alive in that moment.
“Thanks for taking me, Dad, we did it.”
‘You’re welcome, Dave, but we’re not done yet. Keep dreaming.”
Life Matters is written by David B. Whitlock, Ph.D. His email is drdavid@davidbwhitock.com. You can also visit David’s website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
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