Sunday, 3 March
 |
| Chocolate Ribs for Justin |
Good Morning Justin…
Can you believe baseball season is nearly upon us? What do you think the Red Sox’s chances are
this year? The Yankees are getting
old. It could be neck and neck for the
race to the top in the American League East.
You’ve been a Sox fan since forever.
I remember one day when your sister, Jessicca, told you Manny Ramirez
had been traded from Boston . Oh, no, not Manny! You couldn’t stop crying even when she told
you she was only kidding. You were no
more than three at the time, or so it seems.
You’ve always been the kid with the big heart and you probably still
are. The last time I saw you we were
throwing the football around with your brother Jack and you had a big sauce
stain on your T-shirt from where a glob of spaghetti dropped from your fork on
the way to your mouth. Big deal. You didn’t care. People get all excited over nothing things
like that. You would have worn it to
church if your Mom would let you. That
wasn’t going to happen, though. She’s
checking you – shirt tucked in, even in back?
Your belt isn’t twisted, is it?
Pull up your zipper. Left shoe
not tied. What a hassle.
Here’s another memory that just came to me. When you were a little guy you used to draw
just the way I did. It was making sure
you drew quick, a kind of short-hand.
People were only slightly more than stick figures and things like planes
were drawn just well enough that you knew what they were. It was all about getting the exciting story
down on the paper. You even had the same
squint I had when I drew and made noises with your mouth that fit the unfolding
story as it was drawn. You were so
absorbed.
Actually I thought I drew pretty good when I was a kid. Your brother Jacob, though, is the guy that
can really draw and from a very early age, too.
His trains and robots and cartoon characters could run circles around
what I did. He has such an
imagination. His topics were
fanciful. Yours were like mine – more
serious in nature. You just can’t be
goofing around when the whole world is at stake. Your drawings were always going to save us
from the bad guys.
I started drawing again.
It began with drawing a picture for Jessicca’s birthday last month. I called it Rodger Dodger Jessicca. It’s
filled with pent up energy – like if you squeezed a powerful, stiff coiled
spring into a tight little box. I don’t
know where that idea came from. I wasn’t
thinking about it. That’s just how the
drawing came out. I’m midway through a
second drawing that has similarities with Rodger
Dodger. I tell myself I want to draw
something cool and abstract. I’d like to
do something mature, a real adult theme.
It doesn’t seem to happen. Here I
am mashing crayons right into the paper, again.
I should probably smack some baseballs into the outfield or something
before I start drawing. Actually, I
don’t think that would help. You just
have to carry through with an idea and see where it takes you. Eventually the idea runs out of steam. You try to draw one too many pictures of a
theme and it begins to look like a flat tire hobbling down the road. So you wad it up and play basketball with the
waste basket.
It’s Sunday. Time for
church. Time to throw on something
spaghetti stained and slip into the back seat before Mom catches you. Cross your fingers and hope Jack won’t squeal
you out.
Love,
Dad
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