July makes the monumental cut in that 2011 is officially on its 2nd half and finishing up quickly with a vengeance. The heat is burning high as summer continues. Unlike the majority of the American population, we treat summer with little care or respect. There has never been much effort for so called “summer vacation”. For one, this family are not ever known as “playing” people. Secondly, now that both sons are out of their teen years, there no longer remains obligation for summer fun such as water park or camping trips. Thus when D motioned for a trip to see his childhood pals, it was somewhat surprising. Lately, both of us have been working long and intensive hours. A long-weekend trip maybe just what a doctor would prescribe for a timely time-out. The motion was then passed quickly without a dispute.
The plan was to visit a few favorite spots back home in Pittsburgh: the Strip, Schenley Park, and of course a baseball game in the beautiful PNC Park. Pittsburgh is now hardly called home since most of his family have gone – the only 2 left D has had little contact with. Without the family obligations, the 3-day vacation ironically seemed hopeful and relaxing. We found ourselves a small motel with easy access to major necessities such as food, grocery and of course Interstate. We spent our first dinner on a newly opened Italian restaurant nearby and found it more than adequate – the food was scrumptious and service prompt. Not bad for an opening of a vacation for this family with deficiency in playing.
Pittsburgh to D after nearly 3 decades of distance is now more some enchanting place to visit than home. He spent his first 26 years there all the way through graduate school. There live forever his best years -- childhood fun in Fineview and of course the unforgettable CMU. They, too, became my favorite as his eyes and thoughts grow younger and younger while he tells of those old stories that both of us never get tired of. Somehow life in that ghetto neighborhood proved to be anything but poor, depriving. I picture with fancy those boys playing from morn till sundown on every field, block or lane, all the fun, thrill and sometimes mischief and imagine what a different world it must have been. And of course in the midst of those golden years there were his best friends Mike and Dennis, who were the chief reason of this visit. We were to meet up for the baseball game on July 4th but ended up inviting ourselves to Dennis’ family reunion, and then breakfast at their favorite diner the next morning, and finally the grand finale, baseball game at the PNC park.
It was a hot summer day. The walk to and fro to the stadium, 3 hours of Pirates game under the mid day sun did not at all affect the thrill of the fans and especially the forever kinship of the three friends. It was a good game but none of us paid attention. I looked over at them – they were chatting on mindlessly, obvious of the frenzy of the fans surrounding them. Four decades of time may have mercilessly altered them outwardly but not inside. Somehow, the child within remains untouchable at the snare of time or space. Of all the baseball games we have gone to, that one on July 4th, 2011, might as well mark the most irrelevant one. Pirates has been having a good season. It even treated us with an exciting win, but we would have cared less if they had lost.
After the game, we continued on the memory lane – a treat at Gus and Ya Ya’s snow ball followed by a planned cookout in the his old neighborhood, Fineview, where we had planned to stay for the firework. As the clouds thickened and darkened, the firework was replaced with nature’s own work: thunderstorm with hail, gusty wind and lightening. It mattered not to us while we sang “Happy Birthday” and Luke playing piano for the 89-year-old father. Despite of the storm, the celebration was not held off in that small old house – and it was not just about the birthday, or even July 4th.
We bailed out on the firework and drove off Pittsburgh in the pouring rain. Had it taken place, it would have been most impressive and magnificent from atop of that neighborhood overlooking the picturesque Iron City – and yet, no match to that in our hearts. The power of a past so innocent and carefree will forever remain a class of its own: superior, peerless, unbeatable. D drove on quietly. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but I imagined he too was under the spell of the same magic. Nostalgic, even sad, we might have been, how blessed we were, I thought, to have been the Christmas ghosts in a city so beautiful and a past so glorious….
