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The House Painter's Kid [1]

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Date: 2023-02-14  

Summertime

1961. Birmingham, Michigan. Mike had a bat, and I had a ball. It was Summertime. We both had baseball mitts. Mine was from a second hand store, an AL KALINE glove by Wilson. There was a mowed lot.

I suppose it was the bat. Other than playing catch, two kids really can't play pitch and hit. If the batter hits the ball, the pitcher has to go run it down. If the batter misses the pitch, then he has to go and run it down. It's hopelessly boring.

So anyway, we noticed this kid, watching us. He was at the foot of a ladder, and his dad was up there, painting a house. -- Three!

I sure didn't then, and maybe you don't know now, but I need to say, there was a lot of tension down in Detroit. I'll just leave it at that.

Well, i says to Mike, or Mike says to me, let's go ask if that kid can come over and play. So we walk over to where the kid is, with his dad up the ladder painting a house.

A brief conversation ensued. The kid could barely restrain himself, he really wanted to play. His father, and this is what this story is all about -- gazed over the neighborhood, new and neat ranch style houses, white folks comfortable in suburbia. It was a hot day, he was sweating. He just looked for awhile, like maybe we weren't there.

Then he looked down at his boy, and looked at us with a smile.

[END]
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[1] Url: https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2023/2/14/2152863/-The-House-Painter-s-Kid

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