Page 77 - Firehouse Pond

It was fun to play catch and listen to him tell stories about his baseball days.

Of course, I was too young to expect or reason that he might be embellishing

his actual time in baseball. But the stories were fun, and I did get to attend
some pretty good games.

Some of his stories were true and that made him my hero. We would listen to

the games on the radio while playing catch.

By the age of fourteen my mother, stepfather and I had traveled from state to
state, back and forth in search of work and chasing baseball dreams. We had

moved to and from three states so many times that I knew the route by heart.

THE GOLDEN STATE BECOMES HOME

We were now in California and for all practical purposes, life was a major
improvement. We lived in a house, a rental, but who cares. It was a house

without wheels. It was a significant move up in the world.

My stepfather planted seeds of thought in me. All things can be taken away

from you except for your education.

I would later learn that dementia can steal your education as well. Those
kernels grew a little later in my life when I became the only person on the

blood side of my family to graduate high school or college.

THREE HIGH SCHOOLS IN FOUR YEARS

High school was not a pleasant time for me, it was not easy. Life, in general,
was not easy. I was not a happy fifteen-year-old boy. I did not fit in and I
made few friends. I was the “skinny poor kid.” Wow, not much change from

Charleston and “Cotton Picker” and “Lower Class.”

It was true; we remained poor.