April 11

When I think of iconic American childhood experiences, it doesn't take long for baseball to come to mind. There's something about the air, the dirt, the sound of the bat hitting the ball, and the feel of the metal bleachers against your skin that's just so special and distinctive. Today, Isaac had a game.

It was just a run of the mill game. Nothing unusual happened, but as I watched the kiddos getting their post-game snacks, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Back when I was little, my big brother played baseball for a few seasons. I remember --rather clearly, given how many years have passed-- going to his practices and eating honeysuckle from a bush that my younger brother and I discovered. It was back behind the old elementary school. The air was sticky and a bit too warm to be comfortable, but it was all okay because we had that honeysuckle.

And baseball.