Monday started out rough. As I read my emails I was jolted upright by the message that a fellow tailgater had passed away. His friend was asking for a picture I took at the tailgate party before the Phillie's Ring game. It was a group shot and he wanted to add it to the collage of pictures about the man's life.
Later that day I heard that Harry Kalas had died in the broadcast booth before the days game. I shed a tear, not because I knew the man or had some kind of relationship with him like the sportscasters on the radio.Not because it reminded me of all the friends, family and acquaintances that have passed. It was because I felt a piece of time had fallen out of my box. The present of time given to me as a small boy, filled with wondrous events too many to count or appreciate.
The box was huge and overflowing. I've got plenty of time! I'll look at it later and I put the box aside. Recently when I looked inside I was surprised to find the box was half empty. Where had all the time went!
So when I heard Harry fall out, I lunged to grasp and label him "Summer Time." As if that would somehow help keep my box full. But he slipped through my fingers like the quicksilver of my youth.
The voice of Harry Kalas was background music for the summers of my youth. Often found wafting out of the kitchen windows of every house on the block. A low steady hum that provided a gentle rhythm for the summer. A reassuring sound that when heard always made me feel at home no matter where I was. It was like the voice of your favorite uncle telling stories while your mom stirred pots on the stove. It was family and it was good! I'll miss you Harry Callis just as I'll miss my youth.
So the next time a mature individual seems to lecture you about the importance of a specific date or event. Don't write them off as a rambling old fart. Have pitty on them for you're looking at someone holding an empty box.
I'm Frank the Tank and that's how I see it.
