It’s hard to believe it’s been two years, since my mother passed away. There is nary a day when I don’t think of her, or find her fingerprints on something I do or say. I smile when that happens. On Mother’s Day, I find myself reflecting on the great memories I have of her, and the things that she imparted to me.
Earlier this week, famed Detroit Tiger broadcaster Ernie Harwell passed away, after 55 years of broadcasting. My mother loved those Tigers, having grown up in Detroit, Michigan, where I was also born. Charlie Gehringer when she was a child, then later, Al Kaline and those World Champion ’68 Tigers. And she loved Ernie Harwell. He was “old school”, the kindly, familiar, friendly voice that fans could count on, year after year, a constant in our lives. I was sad to learn of Ernie’s passing, though he lived a good, long, full life. I couldn’t help thinking of my mother when I heard the news, knowing that she would be there to greet Ernie, and welcome him to heaven, and have that kindly, familiar, friendly voice to listen to once again.
Baseball on the radio was a big part of our house growing up. It was my mother who introduced me to the joy of listening to baseball games on radio, starting as a very young boy when I would fall asleep listening to the games on a small transistor radio – a gift from my mother. I think she liked listening to them on the radio even more than watching them — as I do — because she could be doing something while she was listening, working in her garden or such.
I think it’s a different experience listening rather than watching, something I do to this day. The game takes place inside of you, and your imagination, rather than on the TV screen. I think that is why I enjoy broadcasting games in audio on Ballparkradio, even more than the video streams, because you’re trying to convey the scene to people who can’t see it.
My mother gave life to imagination in our house. Along with the games on radio, there were the Saturday morning trips to the local library, and the stack of books that we would bring home with us. If you could imagine it, dream it, then you could make it happen. That is the magic she taught me.
When I started broadcasting fastpitch games on Ballparkradio in 2003, it seemed that life had come full circle. I would find an email from her in the days leading up to the broadcasts…”be sure to let me know when you’re going to be on”, and then one during the broadcast to let me know she was listening. I miss those…
The photo below of my mother was taken in 2005, at the Rose Cup tournament in Portland, Oregon. She had driven down with my sister, Sheilagh (the best fastpitch player in the family), and her son, Ryan, from the Seattle area where they lived. I remember her sitting nearby as we broadcast the games outside, from behind home plate. I smiled, as she did, no doubt thinking back to all of those games on the transistor radio. It was a day I will always remember.
Her grandson Ryan has grown since then, becoming a ballplayer in the tradition of our family. So full of life, and imagination. Something he gets from his mother, who got it from hers…
