I am Paul Fryer
I Was Quite a Baseball Player
Who am I really? Well it’s like this. Actually a man named Paul Fryer said it best when I met him for the first time some decades ago in the late 1970s. At that time Paul was approaching eighty and was visiting my widowed mother, as they had known each other during the early years of their marriages.
We were standing in my mom’s kitchen, making introductory, idle small talk. Stuff like ‘Where do you live now? Are you retired? (Of course) How was your trip up?’ and so forth. I asked the questions but not sure I always listened for the response. I was in my thirties; I had things on my mind. Suddenly out of the blue Paul blurts out who he really is, “You know I was quite a baseball player when I was a young man.”
Is That Going to be Me?
I looked at him – and allowed a smile. “That was strange,” I thought to myself, but I immediately saw into my own future: the day when I would be like Paul - standing alone, facing a stranger, much younger than I, who saw me only as an old man who probably never really was much of anything and saying to the stranger, “You know I was quite an athlete when I was a young man.”
Who am I really? Well it’s like this. Actually a man named Paul Fryer said it best when I met him for the first time some decades ago in the late 1970s. At that time Paul was approaching eighty and was visiting my widowed mother, as they had known each other during the early years of their marriages.
We were standing in my mom’s kitchen, making introductory, idle small talk. Stuff like ‘Where do you live now? Are you retired? (Of course) How was your trip up?’ and so forth. I asked the questions but not sure I always listened for the response. I was in my thirties; I had things on my mind. Suddenly out of the blue Paul blurts out who he really is, “You know I was quite a baseball player when I was a young man.”
Is That Going to be Me?
I looked at him – and allowed a smile. “That was strange,” I thought to myself, but I immediately saw into my own future: the day when I would be like Paul - standing alone, facing a stranger, much younger than I, who saw me only as an old man who probably never really was much of anything and saying to the stranger, “You know I was quite an athlete when I was a young man.”
I made a vow of caution to not plagiarize Paul. God bless him.
Moving ahead to today – it is thirty-five years later, a mid-Winter Saturday, 4:00 PM., 2010. By now my vow of caution has been broken many times.
Moving ahead to today – it is thirty-five years later, a mid-Winter Saturday, 4:00 PM., 2010. By now my vow of caution has been broken many times.
Yes, It's Me
It is a bright day in northern New Jersey, the kids are out front playing street hockey. Through my window I see grandson Ed, age 6, heading toward the fray, outfitted in full NHL goalie gear. He trudges along slow and bowlegged from the pads’ bulk but with the determined stride of a young cowpoke. I join up with the spectator parents sidling up next to a young father. I notice that there is a Naval Academy decal on his car. “So you went to Navy?” I say.
It is a bright day in northern New Jersey, the kids are out front playing street hockey. Through my window I see grandson Ed, age 6, heading toward the fray, outfitted in full NHL goalie gear. He trudges along slow and bowlegged from the pads’ bulk but with the determined stride of a young cowpoke. I join up with the spectator parents sidling up next to a young father. I notice that there is a Naval Academy decal on his car. “So you went to Navy?” I say.
“Yes,” he answers and I feel that I should probably mention I was recruited by Navy for basketball which I do say (the short version) despite my awareness of the strain this places on credulity, as things appear now. The father offers that he met his wife there. I add some details to my "recruited" story to authenticate my claim, “I stayed on campus, in the boathouse,” I say.
The father nods. Midshipmen usually know the boathouse is the Academy accommodation for recruited athletes, or so I think. Regardless, the kids continue to scurry about before us with childlike earnestness, raising sticks and cheering for goals scored. The conversation turns to the notion that pick-up games like this are great - that starting organized sports too young is risky. The father then adds “Twelve years of football is more than enough for anyone.”
I see another segue. I pause my thoughts, then decide to go with it. “Hey, I know, I played four years in high school, a year in prep school then four more years in college, and my body aches often.” Not really (don't know why I put that in, about the aches - dumb).
I see another segue. I pause my thoughts, then decide to go with it. “Hey, I know, I played four years in high school, a year in prep school then four more years in college, and my body aches often.” Not really (don't know why I put that in, about the aches - dumb).
I don’t look at the dad when I say this. I don’t want to see the doubt or disbelief, or worse – a smirk. So I concentrate on the game, my eyes straight ahead. I notice that the name Paul Fryer has popped into my head, as in I have become ....
Seriously – I really was quite a basketball player as a young man.
Seriously – I really was quite a basketball player as a young man.
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