I hear that the New York Yankees are going to the World Series this year. My brother Rex would have been so excited. That was his team from the time we were young kids. He had the cards to so many of the greats during that time: Micky Mantle, Roger Maris, Whitey Ford, and other names that I have since forgotten. He and his friend Bob were both big into trading, and they had the best of the best. That was long before people saved things like baseball cards, thinking they might be worth something someday. The fact that my sister Dawn later attached those same baseball cards to the spokes of her bicycle with clothespins, reproducing the flapping sound of a motorcycle as she cruised down Chestnut Street confirms that. Even if those cards were still tucked away in a drawer somewhere in the confines of our home in Weston's Mills, they obviously were no longer in the pristine condition that collectors demand. But they're not tucked away anywhere. From what I heard and understand, when my brother tried to track them down several years later, the truth was told. They had gone the way of the trash bin.
Rex passed away not quite six months ago after a long hard battle with Parkinson's. Eventually a nursing home had become the only option for him. No one loved sports more than my brother, and even in his new setting he stayed engaged with all of them, via the large television screens in the visitor's lounge, propped up in his wheelchair. I can picture him now, so thrilled at the prospect of his team at the World Series for the first time in fifteen years. Yeah, and it would be all he'd want to talk about over the next several days. Rex loved to talk.
I don't remember grieving during the early days after Rex left us. More than anything, I was relieved and grateful that he had finally escaped his broken body, his spirit was free. He was a man of deep faith, and I knew the day would come when I would see him again. And that's why what happened a few days ago took me by surprise.
I saw them hanging from a rack at our local Big Lots. Army men. You know, the little plastic ones that stand a couple inches tall. And I suddenly saw my brother as a kid with his collection on our living room floor, lining them up for battle. Without warning, my throat began to tighten, and my eyes were starting to feel wet. I turned towards Larry, not standing far from me. My voice caught as I pointed at the packages of plastic soldiers and spoke of my brother and one of his favorite pastimes. I missed him. And I grieved.
It's funny, if my brother had any other collections when we were kids, I don't remember them. His baseball cards and army men are the two things that stand out. So, I bought a package in honor of him. And though I've not watched a baseball game all season, I intend to catch what I can in the coming days. I want to do it for him. For Rex. And yes, I'll be rooting for the Yankees.
