My love of baseball began at a very young age. 

I was maybe seven or eight when my mother signed me up for little league.  I wasn’t sure but once I got on the field I knew that baseball would become a lifelong passion.

I remember walking to the practice field.  We didn’t have a car so we did a lot of walking back then.  We didn’t view it as abnormal or anything.  That’s just the way it was for us.  So early one Saturday morning my mother and I began the four mile walk to the Eugene Field elementary school ball field.  It took us over an hour to walk there to meet the coach and the other boys who were about to be my team mates.

Since I didn’t even have a ball glove I didn’t get to do any practice on the field, but I did get to bat and try to hit the ball and actually connected for a few good hits.  I knew my mom had no way of buying me a ball glove so I thought we’d never go back.  I think she thought one would be provided.  She knew I was interested and I knew she’d figure something out before our first real practice in a week. 

We walked back home and the entire way I talked about how much fun I had, thinking all along that I’d never really get to do it again.

Being so young I was quickly able to put baseball out of my mind.  Then the next Saturday morning she woke me up very early and said, “Come on, let’s go sleepy head!”  I didn’t understand and then she reached behind her back and handed me what I thought was the most beautiful baseball glove I could have ever imagined.  It was maybe thirty years old, very worn in, very beat up with broken strings and the most tanned and oiled leather you could imagine, but it was beautiful. 

As I think about it now, it could have been used by the likes of Lou Gehrig, Stan the Man or even Babe Ruth.  It was of that same vintage.

I immediately put it on and beat my fist into the pocket over and over again like I’d seen the pros do on TV.  My excitement was beyond words.  I’d compare the excitement of getting that glove to the red rider BB gun that we see Ralphie get every year when we watch A Christmas Story on TV.

My mom had a hard time keeping up with me on our long walk back to the Eugene Field ball field.  We even made it in less than an hour.  I got to practice in the field and was even able to catch almost every ball the coach hit my way.  I think I impressed him with my natural ability to know where the ball was going and to be able to field it with that antique glove.

After a few practices we were ready for our first game.  The coach put me in at third base. I wasn’t very nervous but soon learned that playing the “hot corner” as I’d heard third base referred to, was not an easy position to play.  We didn’t have tee ball back then, but a real pitcher.  Ours was Andy McAfee.  He pitched just like the pros did.  He’d already been playing little league a couple of years and I soon learned that the coach was his dad. 

Andy would wind up, stretch and release the ball just like I’d seen Whitey Ford do for the Yankees.  We became great friends and are to this day. 

The play I remember the most at my first ever real baseball game with umpires and everything was when there was a kid on second base who tried to steal third.  Our catcher saw this and just like that threw the ball to me at third.  I was able to tag him out to end the inning.  I couldn’t believe the cheering from our bleachers. 

As I was running back to our dugout I noticed two of my older cousins, Larry and Terry, sitting with my mom and grandfather.  They were both teenagers and were really into baseball.  They were already playing at a level I could only imagine and aspire to.  They were both talking to mom and then looked at me and both gave me huge smiles and two thumbs up to let me know I had done good.

Then, I was the second guy to bat and after the first batter was walked I settled into the batter’s box and swung away at the first pitch – and got every bit of it.  I watched it sail over the center fielder’s head as I was coming around first base then second and turned around third and made it safely for my first home run.

Larry and Terry, my grandfather and my mom were all on their feet cheering wildly. We won the game and I’ve never stopped playing some form of baseball or softball ever since.

But the thing that strikes my memory the most is what happened a few weeks after that game. 

My two cousins not only loved baseball, but they also both had paper routes so they had a lot of money.  One afternoon after I came home from school they were both sitting in our living room.   I could tell something was up.  They asked me how baseball was going and I told them how much I loved the game. 

They asked if I wanted to play some catch and I immediately responded that I’d like that very much.  I’d never played catch with these two and before anyone could say another word I dropped my books and ran to grab my glove.

When I got back they were standing there with a big box wrapped in newspaper.  Without saying a word they handed it to me and then my mom said, “Go ahead and open it.  Larry and Terry saved up and bought you a gift.” I didn’t know what to think but slowly tore the newspaper off the cardboard box. 

 

I shook it a little and they both smiled.  My mom was nearly in tears.  So I opened the box and inside was the most magnificent, brand new, genuine Rawlings baseball glove I’d ever seen – and just my size.

I played with that glove for the next several years until my hand got too big, but have never forgotten how much it meant to me and how much those two cousins inspired my love for the game.  I am eternally grateful.

by Paul R. Yakes