Swinging away on the streets of brooklyn
When i was a kid growing up in Brooklyn, we played stick-ball alot. I loved that game. a little rubber ball, a stick, and 3, 4, or 5 guys on a side. but sometimes, there weren't enough guys to play...., only 2 or 3 guys. so we would go to the corner where there were 2 buildings directly across the street from each other. single story factories..., 12 to 15 feet tall, maybe taller. we’d draw a box on the wall, a strike zone. someone would get up at bat... someone would pitch, and someone would stand by the other building and play the field. even as a kid.... it confused me why we would always do this. cause eventually, someone got a good piece of the ball, and it went sailing over the building and onto the roof. there was something about a brand new “pinkie”, or a spalding. there was sadness when i lost that ball..., and sometimes accompanied by the thrill of hitting the shit out of it and it getting stuck on the roof. Sometimes it went clear over the building and we would be able to get it. sometimes , we would be able to climb up a pipe and get up on the roof.... looking back, not a smart thing. eventually i got sick of climbing up there to get the ball. it always seemed that id get another ball one way or another..... i think they cost a quarter back then... don’t remember. but what i do remember was that every time i got up to bat... i swung away at that ball with all my might, not caring about the possibility that it would fly onto the roof, and it would be gone. maybe it was with the intent that it might fly far enough to go over the building completely, for a chance to do it all over again.
Here’s to child hood lessons. Im still swinging away with all my might. sometimes i get a good piece of it, and it sails over the building, and i get to have another shot at it...., and sometimes... it just gets lost on the roof......
until i can get another ball.