2021 marks the first baseball season I’ll experience without my grandfather. I wrote about him a few months ago and the legacy he left behind. As a new MLB season dawns, I’m attempting to pass on what I know to future generations of my family.
I wanted to travel to Cooperstown, New York—home of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. Prior to COVID, my grandfather and I made plans to go to the town and explore the history of the sport. However—just as many others across the globe—our plans were altered by an unrelenting virus who cared not about those it infected.
A visit to Cooperstown brings back the memories and hope associated with MLB
We’re still in the midst of the pandemic. Although there’s light at the end of the tunnel, there is, in fact, still a tunnel. We take whatever victories we can and hope for a better tomorrow.
One such victory. Actually, scratch that. Two such victories for my family came within a month-span. (I say my family, but it was really a victory for yours truly).
I was able to go to the National Baseball Hall of Fame twice. For context, I had only been there once in the prior ten years. In late January, my aunt Colleen and my cousin, Kateri, went with me to the hallowed hall(s).
My mom told me I should’ve been a lawyer because I can win any argument. Somehow, I convinced my aunt to drive three hours from New Jersey to New York in negative degree temperature to walk around a museum. It was worth it. Cooperstown is such a peaceful village. I felt content walking the streets and absorbing all the history. The greats of our sports once walked the same streets. Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Jackie Robinson, Walter Johnson, Cy Young, Nolan Ryan. The list goes on.
We spent hours walking around. I explained every artifact I came upon—from Honus Wagner’s locker as a coach—to the last jersey worn by Babe Ruth in 1948—to Hank Aaron’s lone MVP award and beyond. The more my aunt and cousin asked questions, the more excited I became. I loved answering questions and feeling like a big cheese.
During our tour, we reached a room that featured jerseys from every MLB team. It was then tears rolled down my face. All I could think about was Fa (my grandfather) and everything he taught me about baseball.
The same feeling returned later that month when my other aunt, Mary Rose, took me, her husband, and my two cousins back down to Cooperstown. My cousins were homeschooling due to COVID and she wanted to take them on a field trip. I half-hardheartedly suggested Cooperstown, not believing she would want to make the three-hour drive. But, she thought it was a great idea. To my happiness and disbelief, I got to return.
My cousins, Damien and Aidan, were excited for the trip. I spent the time telling them stories about the greatest to ever play, just as Fa had done for me. I wanted to pass on the stories I learned from him. By doing so, it ensures Fa never dies. His stories about baseball live on through me and my family. Some day, I hope I can pass on those stories to my own children. For now, I’m more than content passing them on to my cousins—who loved and were loved by my grandfather as much as I.
We keep a picture of Fa in our television room at home. I watch every Yankee game there. In a way, it’s like he’s still watching the games. I told Kateri, Damien, and Aidan I would come over in the summer to watch games with them. I hope I can keep the promise because, to me, baseball is family. And there is nothing more important than family.
2020 took a lot from all of us, but not our hope. Hope for a better future, with those I care about. Hope, that with every pitch, a new memory is forged. I hope 2021 will bring everyone happiness—both on the field and off.