HISTORY OF LACROSSE

At least once a summer, walking along the beach,

I’d stop to watch my grandfather interrupt students

from Maryland playing with fancy new lacrosse sticks.

He’d ask to take a turn and they always obliged and

smiled as he cradled the ball in the pocket before

whipping it to the other young man. “Oh boy”, he’d say,

then pause, examine the netting and grip before nodding

and thanking them. Off we’d go down the boardwalk

past Ocean Deck, Taylor Pork Roll, and all the little shops.

 He’d tell me stories about his days as a defenseman

playing with the Bear Mountain Cubs, for Springfield in ’32,

his knee injury and officiating for the plebes at West Point.

He’d laugh at young people who thought it was a new sport.

He’d talk about the tribes in New York state, the tradition

and most of all his vivid memories of his old teammates.

My grandfather, D.Bewick- back row, third from the left.

SUNDAY IN THE PARK

The best way to succeed in life is to

act on the advice we give to others. ~Author unknown

Sun on my face, birds on every branch,

bulbs sprouting, green grass emerging

before our eyes in this patch of nature

wedged between busy state highways.

All feeling the same way, the same joy,

blessed by whoever we pray to, but today

we worship blue skies, and magnolia trees.

Here together, but alone, not a word said,

barely a nod as we stroll past one another.

On days like these, I wish we could talk to

each other. I would tell them what I know

what I see, what I think and how I’m feeling.

I’d tell a Dad, be patient with your boy as

they try to fly a kite with not much wind.

I’d tell a Mom in tight fitting jeans to go slow

on her bike, don’t worry about your weight

from where I’m standing, you look mighty fine.

I’d tell a guy walking with headphones to take

them off, listen to children laughing, jays calling,

the swings swaying and the little dogs yapping.

Turn off your phone, walk a trail, read the signs,

identify the trees, admire them, know their names.

I’d tell young parents- let the kids shed their coats,

let them run wild across the fields in the sunshine.

Let them pickup sticks, turn over rocks, look for bugs.

I’d tell another guy by the swings not to say it’s time to

leave and keep pushing until they say they want to go.

I want to ask them all to not scold their babies about

muddy sneakers, grass stains on knees or torn shirts.

I’d remind them how cheap band aids are and how

soap and water is most plentiful in this great country.

I want to offer to take a picture for the one family,

because Dads need to be in some of the photos too.

I’d tell an older couple it’s cool how they still hold

hands after all these years as they walk the path.

I want to tell a lady she’s reading an awesome

book and how it’s much better than the movie.

I’d like to tell the elderly couple that I know what

they’re thinking as they watch a girl dig in the dirt

or when they smile as a boy throws his football.

I wish I could advise the teenager under a scarlet oak

not to worry about what she’s writing in her notebook

or what people will say if they read it. Write it down and

always have some extra pens with you is what I’d say.

I want to wave to a Mom with a plaid blanket spread out

for a picnic lunch. I’d tell her that in forty years her kids

will remember days like this one and they’ll miss it too.

SHUFFLE

He’s got a cheap iPod, it plays random songs,

they loaded it for him with his favorite music.

It’s ironic, You’ll Never Walk Alone is playing

as he begins to take his morning walk alone.

His kids are away, his wife- in a different world.

He’s trying to live a more healthy life now.

On early Wednesdays the park belongs to him.

There are no cyclists, dog walkers, or baby strollers.

When he notices how alone he really is, a bluebird

lands on a lamp post to sing his song and in the

distance, scrubby pines sway in the light breeze.

High above him, jets streak across a cloudless sky.

He imagines blood coursing through his veins,

into his four chambers, on to the arteries like the

lessons he taught to his students many years ago.

With the sun on his back and sweat on his cap band

he feels stronger when a Willie Nelson song begins-

Well hello there, my it’s been a long, long time

How am I doin’? Oh I guess that I’m doin’ fine.

MY MIND WANDERS

to the past when I walk all alone in the park

and I begin to think of the strangest things.

Today, I began to recall my reading list from

ninth grade and thought about rereading the

books for a third time. I’d like to see how

different it would be after thirty years to read

James Joyce, George Elliot, and Eugene O’Neill.

I’m sure I must’ve missed something the first time.

Will I find new meaning in the words, will I enjoy

the books more or will I see them differently like

the way I look at the pines, cat birds, and crickets.

It all very odd, the older I get the more I want to

revisit what I knew from my days as a young man.

I want to walk alone some days and I find myself

thinking about how buds are forming on branches.

I talk to myself. I wonder about God again.

I remember the days of my youth in church and

parables from Mrs. Garrison’s Sunday school class.

I think of how we’d eat pork roast on Sundays with

mashed potatoes and sauerkraut for dinner and how

we’d drink Tang for breakfast, make ice cream by

turning a crank, and go to pick your own strawberries.

I have to laugh as I turn the corner and remember how

the needle used to get stuck on a scratched record.

I wish I could hear my grandfather sing one more time

the chorus of his favorite song, Minnie the Mermaid.