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Sitting off to the lower right of my active reading table, is a book I picked up fairly recently. By John Grisham, the book is entitled "Calico Joe,” a graciously told baseball story. I like baseball books. Some of the most enjoyable novels I have read have had a baseball backdrop. Something about the sport lends itself like no other to a rhythmic narrative that punctuates the pace of life. Like the game itself, novels set in the context of baseball games fall naturally into a pattern of action, followed by leisurely interludes of memory, observation, and commentary.
“Calico Joe” is fitted into a fictionally reconfigured 1973 baseball season. It is about a man named Paul, whose father was a major league pitcher and whose hero, Calico Joe, was a rookie-phenomenon in 1973. It is also about the boy Paul who grows up to become the man, and who tells the story. Now, I was about the age of the boy Paul during the baseball season of 1973, and the story’s accents about that time, seen through the eyes of an 11 year old, turned my eye to a part of the memory I had not visited in a while. To me, that fact alone was worth the price of admission to the story. But there is much more.
Baseball is beautiful to watch, with its manicured fields, its clean, chalked lines stretching out, in principle, to infinity to define and embrace time and space, all providing a paradise-like field on which to play a free and fair game (tip of the hat to Bart Giamatti, may he rest in peace). But, as in all things human, there is pain and sorrow between the chalked lines, just as there is grace and beauty. “Calico Joe” has to do with a boy who must make peace as a man with the smashed hopes, the sorrow and the pain that enveloped his childhood. He must re-visit the troubling memory of his father’s self-absorption, and his child-like admiration of a player, Calico Joe, who in addition to being a figure of heroic proportions, was not his father.
There are pitches in the game, and there are pitches in life. Some seem uniquely aimed to ruin things forever, and some can make it possible to get to a better place. You need a special kind of eye to see either kind of pitch coming. The theme is simple, perennial, human: in the end, which pitch prevails?
I recommend the book because it is gently and elegantly told, spare in its use of literary ornament, yet capable of pulling you into a serious reflection about what it means to forgive someone. The story-teller does not provide you with a light-hearted path to this reflection on forgiveness, but he does show you what is humanly possible when the truth is brought to light. You cannot re-write the past, nor can you bury it, really; neither of these opens life to a curative path. You can, though, have the courage to face things as they are, and —like a kid who still remembers how to hope for a good pitch—you can take a chance that anger and resentment can give way to something better.
And because baseball is always a graceful game, whenever a story explores what is humanly possible in the environs of a baseball park, it explores, even if clandestinely, what is at the same time gracefully possible.
I really appreciate the insights into the game of baseball. I enjoy every aspect of the game, from watching the cat-and-mouse game that goes on when a runner is trying to steal a base to a towering homerun in center field. But two lines from your post really struck a chord with me. "There are pitches in the game, and there are pitches in life." "You need a special kind of eye to see...the kind of pitch coming." I started to think how every opportunity that comes our way can be either an opportunity for a positive outcome or a prospect best left alone. I'm sure every day we experience pitches that we either let pass, tentatively engage or hit safely somewhere.Looking back at my career in teaching, I recalled how a kindly pastor approached me right out of college and asked me to come teach at the convent grade school. That was the pitch. I said yes and eight years later I felt I had grown tremendously as a teacher. Many lessons were learned and great challenges were overcome. In retrospect, I can see I endured through the tough times and I was then able to accept my new challenge, teaching in a public high school. After 22 years there, I can say I hit that pitch somewhere high...whether it reached the seats or not, I don't know, but I know I did not strike out, that's for sure.
ReplyDeleteA couple of years ago, my mother fell and broke her hip which required surgery. My life changed drastically. As a single woman, living at home, it is my responsibility and great privelege to help her in every way that I can, whether I am feeling fine, feeling tired, feeling sick or whatever. I thank God for the opportunity to serve Him in this way. Life threw us a curve ball, and I knew I had to hit a sacrifice fly, retire and take care of her, all for the greater honor and glory of God. Thank you, Bishop Flores for being our good shepherd!
Queridos amigos,
ReplyDeleteSister Maureen wrote a comment on this post, but I pushed a wrong button and lost it, I thought, forever. Not forever, just for then. Thanks, Sister, for taking the time.
She wrote:
"Bishop, I, too, like to read. Many books by John Grisham are excellent. This one "Calico Joe" is a reader. Baseball (Boston Red Sox) is one of my favorite sports to watch because of the tranquility of the game. I will be on the look out for this book."
Sister Maureen