The year was 1982. I was just eight years old, not a care in the world other than how late I can stretch out my play time on a school night. I longed for the weekends because I could stay out until the street lights came on! At this particular time, videogames weren’t the mainstay of child entertainment. My friends and I relied on good ole physical activity in the lines of sports and bicycles to pass our time. Anything that kept me from my daily routine of fun and excitement were a real downer in my eyes. One of the things I despised the most was the routine visits to my grandparent’s house. Don’t get me wrong I loved my grandparents, it’s just that every visit involved me being put to work doing various jobs around the house, such as fence painting, lawn mowing and the occasional cleaning of the garage or basement. I really didn’t mind helping out its just at that age who wouldn’t rather be playing a game of stickball with his friends. One time in particular I was volunteered to paint the chain link fence that surrounded their small suburban home. This was an undertaking that took me several visits to accomplish. This job turned out to be a blessing in disguise. After I completed the job, to my surprise, my Grandfather told me that he was going to take me to a St Louis Cardinals football game at Bush Stadium in downtown St Louis. I had never been to Bush Stadium before, and had only seen games on the television up to this point. The man I called Grandfather was not my real Grandfather. He had married my Grandmother when I was four years old. I think up to this point of my life I didn’t really think of him as my Grandfather because of him marrying into the family. He was a small, gentle man with grey hair. He always seemed to be on the go, from sun up to sun down. He could run circles around me on my best day! He was in his late sixties and had the stamina of a marathon runner. I few weeks had past and...
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