As tears go by.....

It is the evening of the day
I sit and watch the children play
Smiling faces I can see
But not for me
I sit and watch
As tears go by

McDonalds, 6:15am.. Miraculously beautiful rainbow cast over the sky.. “The usual” (they don’t even ask any longer, they just ring it in).. short hop to City Park, Liberty, MO - KC Star in hand. I “grew up” here. Played there, worked there, STILL play there. Young punks, obviously first year of baseball, scatter excitedly from their cars to the ballfield. Smiling faces - but not for me… It’s all good.

Article about young phenom just called up to the Royals. Cause for “back in the day” optimism… In fact, mid-way thru the article he started talking about George Brett/Frank White stories - and there I sat, full cycle. Little kids baseball, the good days of the Royals, the (someday) finalization of an old fart’s dream to continue “being a kid.” I actually did kinda tear up.

My riches can't buy everything
I want to hear the children sing
All I hear is the sound
Of rain falling on the ground
I sit and watch
As tears go by

I somewhat jest in saying “I might have Parkinson's.” Jest in that there are no signs.. Ok, one sign.. My father had Parkinson's.. A natural ‘progression’ of Parkinson's is to tear up, well up, be fairly emotional upon little things - or things that yank at yesteryear. Dad demonstrated this often. All those years - not necessarily “pent up”, but not formally allowed to show, be exhibited. I hated the bastard Parkinson's, but I loved knowing “he felt.” As tears go by doesn’t necessarily have to be a very sad thing. Tears of joy, tears from yesterday’s events - tears simply for ‘feel.’

It is the evening of the day
I sit and watch the children play
Doin' things I used to do
They think are new
I sit and watch
As tears go by

The day after JFK died.. September 12, 2001. Aside from today, the only other two days I can recall that this stupid sport’s enthusiast read the front section of the Kansas City Star before burying his head in the sport’s section.

Josh Langton. Article, front page. Josh is a stepson to my ex. Her husband Mike’s child. In March, he had his car on a hoist - was welding, spark caught the gas tank on fire - explosion jolted him to the ground… burns to over 90% of his body. His father got a blanket and rolled him on the ground - otherwise, he might not even be here today (and sadly, it's still touch and go.)

Article addressed his spunk.. His ‘never having the fear to back down” (stand up for his principles..).. Desert Storm participant. And the induced coma he was initially placed in so the pain would hopefully lessen, and while skin grafts were taken. The family talks to him daily.. One day.. Pleading “please Josh, you can’t leave me”.. and a tear welled up on his eye. That’s feel. Wow..

More from the Star article: On Wednesday night, Battagliola (Josh’s mom) stood terrified at her son’s side. Asleep, Josh looked lifeless. “I need to see some life or something,” she told the nurse. “I need for him to know how much I love him.”
He just needs sleep, the nurse explained, before approaching the bed. “Josh?” the nurse said. “Josh? Your mom’s here.” His heavy eyes opened. His voice was barely audible.
“I love you, Mom,” he managed. She kissed his forehead and cried.
“Just go back to sleep, sweetheart,” she said, and took a seat at his side.

Youth. Baseball. Old age. Parkinsons. Horror. It is the evening of the day.. I sit and watch.. As tears go by..