Uncle in the Outfield

Yesterday for Father's Day my three sons, their dad and I went to the Brooklyn Cyclones v. Staten Island Yankees game at Coney Island. It was awesome. Fathers and sons (or daughters) were invited to come out on the field to toss the ball before the game. The kids in the Precinct 78 baseball league were invited to run the bases. Duncan wore his "Hotwheels" orange jersey; his buddy, little neighbor Charlie, wore his green jersey. The two of them cheered wildly, thrusting their foam "Cyclones #1" hands in the air between stuffing blue cotton candy in their mouths.

During the game I sent a text to my sister to tell her we were thinking about Gary. This time of year is extra hard. In rapid succession she faces her daughter's birthday, Father's Day, the last day of school, and the anniversary of her husband's death. This year the last two fall on the same day, as they did six years ago when Gary was driving to catch up with his family after the boys' last day of school. The night before he had played baseball with them. The next night he was gone.

The coincidence of Gary's death with the summer equinox and the height of baseball season has always felt connected to me, as if by some gossamer threads that hold reality together but which are too delicate to be quite seen, much less named. Something about how the planet is reaching for the sun, the bonds of this realm and another loosened, a ball flying into the sky - invisible momentarily as the powerfully close sun blinds the eye, before it falls back to earth, but what if it doesn't?

Aunts and uncles and older cousins from every corner of the country dropped everything and flew back to New York to be with Kristin and the kids. I remember feeling the necessity to link arms with the living in those hot days after Gary died, to form a ring around a hole that had opened leaving a powerful vacuum in existence. All of nature raged. Thunderstorms hammered us for a week. Humidity cloaked us in a sticky layer we couldn't escape. Mosquitoes bit fiercely. The earth had shifted on its axis. We all felt profoundly useless. What could we possibly say or do in the face of this?

Play baseball. Through scorching heat, thick air, killer insects and dashing storms, a game of baseball went on and on in the backyard. As darkness fell, fire flies joined the game. This aunt, who would be described as a "fair weather fan," looked heavenward numerous times to give thanks for the game of baseball. It felt like it saved our lives.

Duncan was 8 months old when Gary died. As a consequence, Duncan's age each June marks the number of years Gary has been gone. They never met. We had planned to fly back east from California to introduce Duncan to his cousins, aunt and uncle later that summer. Our trip came sooner than planned, but too late. Among the many regrets we all live with daily, I count the fact that Uncle Gary couldn't see Duncan play on his first Little League team this spring.

Last week Duncan joined his dad and two high school friends for a Yankees v. Red Sox game at Yankee Stadium. Jordy and his friends were, of course, decked out in Red Sox attire. Despite our best efforts, Duncan has become a devoted Yankees fan and dressed appropriately. While they waited through a THREE AND A HALF-HOUR rain delay (game started at 10:30PM), thunderstorms raging once again around the perimeter of the baseball field, Duncan became the mascot of their cheering section, upheld by the Yankee fans as a hold-out against his father's bad influence.

I chuckle to think, instead, that Duncan's Yankee devotion is evidence of his uncle's good influence. Gary was a quiet, serious student of baseball. His passion for the Yankees did not take the form of inebriated riotous behavior at the ballpark, or obnoxious derision of other teams or their fans (even the Red Sox). He would have found a lot of the glitz of the New Yankee Stadium beside the point. He took a long view of the game and the team. He knew his stuff.

Gary sometimes lamented that his elbow ached in the night from all the Catch he played with his sons, Christopher and David. One of the prices we pay for becoming parents relatively late in the game. But all that Catch imparted to his boys not only physical skill, but a spirit about the game - and athletics in general. Christopher ("H" as Gary called him) and David ("David Bear") are good athletes, but moreover they are good sportsmen. They are decent. They don't mock.

At their wedding, Gary's best man's toast described Kristin as the "second best catch of his life," after an epic catch in the field earlier in his life. Gary and Kristin's was a mixed marriage with all the inherent excitment and risks that attend such things. Like James Carville and Mary Matalin, their relationship rested on a foundation of respect for each other's devotion to the game while it was enlivened by the rivalry of their chosen teams.

In 2003 (need I remind anyone?) the Red Sox came painfully close to beating the Yankees in the ALCS. That loss, in the 11th inning (even this fair weather fan cringes at the memory), sent my sister into a month-long depression. Her sons, 7 and 3 at the time, were unnerved by their mother's periodic bouts of teary distraction. The lone Red Sox fan in a household of Yankees fans, she was in a very vulnerable place. Never one to gloat, Gary gently explained to the boys how long and hard the Red Sox (and their long-suffering fans) had fought for this, helping them to imagine how very disappointing this would be (despite their own glee). This Father's Day I'm struck by the imprint such a reflexive reaction of generosity left on Gary's children. I'm sure Christopher and David wish they could retrieve more specific memories of their dad, but this one exemplifies Gary's good nature and his legacy.

Last summer Christopher and David ran a "Sports Camp" for my sons, Duncan and Reeve. They patiently taught the fundamentals of baseball and soccer. They played Catch for hours in the blazing summer heat. If Duncan's allegiance to the Yankees was negotiable before their camp, it was sealed by week's end.

And so, when I watch Duncan play baseball here in Brooklyn, I realize Gary is present after all. He taught his sons who taught my son. He's our uncle in the outfield.

And although they never met, Gary sent Duncan the following cover letter and CV upon his birth:

November 23, 2004

Dear Duncan,

Enclosed is my CV. Would you please review as I wish to be considered as one of your uncles. Uncle is a an important person and should not be confused with an aunt. However, they are commonly found together. In my case I will be found with your Aunt Kristin.

Hope to see you soon.

Love,
Uncle Gary

P.S. I have enclosed pictures of Cousin Katie.

C.V. Gary Lehmann
November 2004

DESIRED POSITION: Duncan Ira Green's Uncle, Northeast Region
UNCLINGS PHILOSOPHY: Dirty knees and a full stomach: no baths required.
CURRENT POSITION
Dad, 1996-Present, responsibilities include:
* Maintain family playground, including state of the past (emphasis Gary's) baseball field with grass, dirt and scrape board bases
* Ice skate lacing, puck and stick supply and pond ice snow shoveling
* Golf lessons - a combination of mini-golf, woods and irons at the driving range and an introduction to requisite colorful language
* Book reading - personal favorites: Go, Dog Go; Put Me in the Zoo; Goodnight Gorilla
* Animal and human husbandry
* Forced marches (also termed hiking by flatlanders)
* Driving lessons on John Deere
* Family grump
* Day job - Blah, blah, blah

PRIOR EXPERIENCE
* Watched The Man from UNCLE
* Nephew for four uncles
* Uncle for four nephews and one niece - one broken nose, no long term damage inflicted.
* Best friend for four dogs.

INTERESTS AND FAVORITES
Travel
I like to visit Dunkin Doughnuts and attend baseball and hockey games. I have also traveled abroad. As a result my passport stamps include Cooperstown, Yankee Stadium, Fenway Park, Wrigley Field, Memorial Stadium (1969 World Series, Brook Robinson is spectacular), and Dodger Stadium (1968, Bob Gibson's streak of 50 consecutive scoreless innings ends in the first inning).

Music
I like both kinds, country and western. (1)

Beverage
Root beer, hold the root.

Favorite Historical Figures
Bobby Orr, Bobby Murcer, Wayne Gretsky

Favorite Olympian
Cami Granato (2)

Best Movie Dialogue
Kermit and Fozzy Bear are traveling in a car with Fozzy in the driver seat and Kermit to his right in the passenger seat. They approach a y-intersection and:
Kermit - "Fozzy, bear left."
Fozzy - "Kermit, frog right."

REFERENCES
Andie Lehmann, Binghamton, NY, Retriever
Lilly Reeve-Baker, Hanover, NH Springer
________________
(1) Acknowledgments to the Blues Brothers
(2) Duncan, Cami is famous for being Tony Granato's sister. Maybe you will have a sister who can be famous as Duncan Green's sister.