We had a throwback day today.
Took the kids bowling this morning. I might have lived at the bowling alley in those days when I could barely lift the ball if we had lane bumpers back then.
Then we went to buy some vintage T-shirts for school. Back-to-school shopping doesn’t need to be last-minute, and it doesn’t need to be for boring clothes.
A little lunch at the mall, because I remembered how cool I thought that was as a kid, for reasons I can’t really figure out.
After a quick trip to the grocery store, we came back home and finished watching the movie we started last night (“National Treasure: Book of Secrets”), which set up our trip to the library afterwards. Max knew ahead of time that he was going to check out a couple baseball books (we’ll crack open “The Jackie Robinson Story” at bedtime tonight), but Erica wasn’t sure until after finishing the movie, which inspired her to find an Abraham Lincoln biography.
Then we hit Nick’s Sports Cards for our weekly visit to buy Max a pack of Topps. We got a grab bag today as well, and among its contents were a 1977 Larry Bowa and a 1979 Cleveland Elam. A lot of what we’d planned for today was straight out of my memory of the things I did on a summer weekend when I was Erica’s age or Max’s, and the Bowa and Elam cards stared back at me like winks from my own childhood.
Hopped over to TCBY, just because.
We came home and swam a little bit, tiring the kids out before grilling, which I’m about to go do. While in the car for much of the afternoon and while out in the pool, the Rangers were piped in on the radio. Baseball, old school.
I’m pretty sure I didn’t have it in mind to plan this kind of day just because the Rangers weren’t televised. But man, it fit perfectly. That’s exactly how I remember so many July weekend days as a kid, when names like Kurt Bevacqua and Eric Soderholm and Jim Umbarger became larger than life to a kid whose childhood soundtrack featured Dick Risenhoover and Bill Merrill, and soon Mark Holtz and Eric Nadel. Back in those days when Rangers games were rarely televised. But always broadcast on the radio.
Time to fire the grill up for burgers, but first I had to grab a pen and draw my player of the game, even though I didn’t keep a scorebook while listening to the game, like I used to when seemingly all that mattered to me, even more than a trip to Baskin Robbins or Hannah’s Pies, was whether the Rangers won that day.
I doubt Erica and Max will remember today 35 years from now, let alone in a month, but I will, just as clearly as I remember that day early in the 1977 season when Willie Horton went deep three times.
On the radio.