Two things that have marked the time

“America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time.” Terrence Mann, Field of Dreams

Two things that have marked the time for me have been baseball and books. Last week two markers were set. On Tuesday morning just before I left for work I got the news of Ray Bradbury’s death. I’ve been rereading The Martian Chronicles, spending time in the wonderful and amazing imagination and the rich and beautiful writing of Bradbury. I considered staying home.

I wasn’t born yet when The Martian Chronicles was published. I can’t remember exactly when I read it the first time. It wasn’t my first trip into Bradbury’s mind, that was The Illustrated Man, but I’ve loved His work ever since I first read The Veldt. I read from the public and public school libraries first; then I bought, lost or left behind, and bought again new and used volumes. The copy of The Martian Chronicles I am reading is in a nicely hardbound collection given to me by one of my daughters for Christmas. I couldn’t have imagined today the first time I handed over my library card to secure the loan of Bradbury’s images. Today I can’t imagine a world or the world in my head without them.

On Saturday I went to Seattle with one of my adult sons and a friend and saw my beloved Dodgers play the Mariners. In the spring of ’58 I was five and living in central California. The newly relocated Dodgers were instantly our team. I remember coming home from school to my mom watching a game while she ironed our shirts. I remember listening to Vin Scully on the radio in the house and the car and from the cheap seats at Dodger Stadium. I saw countless games on television, following the joy and agony pennant races and World Series won and lost.

What’s the connection? What do the work of Ray Bradbury and baseball have to do with one another? Maybe nothing outside of my overcrowded head, but consider that the work Bradbury did as a man grew out of his experiences as a boy. The work ball players do as men grows out of experiences they have as boys, watching and playing and loving a game enough to make it a career. Bradbury got a toy typewriter for Christmas when he was twelve and decided to be a writer. Like other boys who dream of throwing a no hitter or hitting a grand slam in the big leagues, Bradbury followed his dream. I’m thankful he did. I’m thankful the men we watched play on Saturday did. It takes courage and gives us courage to trust our own dreams.