Grandchildren & Baseball

Two of my Grandsons -- Luca and Leif -- the only two to share the first initial of their name, have birthdays this week, on Thursday and Friday.

Their Moms cooked up an idea that going to a Giants baseball game would be one nice way to celebrate.

A n old friend of mine is a season ticket holder. I contacted him and he said, 'Sure, I've got four tickets you can have.'

So on Friday night it will be off to the old ballgame they will go, with Leif's older brother, James, and one of the parents.

I should be watching from home on TV. And welcoming Julia back from her Grand Canyon adventure.

Those not into baseball miss one of the central aspects of American culture, although there are many other aspects -- literature, ballet, theater, movies, TV, music of all sorts, and all manner of other stuff.

But in some ways that may be unique, baseball is inter-generational. I can toss a whiffle ball to my grandchildren in ways I did to their parents decades ago and my Dad did for me decades before that.

My Dad saw Babe Ruth and Hank Greenberg. I saw Al Kaline and Rocky Colavito. My older kids saw Will Clark and Matt Williams. They and my younger kids saw the great Barry Bonds.

These days, they all see Buster Posey and Madison Bumgarner.

Folk heroes, all.

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