"Your stew is excellent," the old man said.
"Tell me about the baseball," the boy asked him.
"In the American League it is the Yankees as I said," the old man said happily.
"They lost today," the boy told him.
"That means nothing. The great DiMaggio is himself again."
"They have other men on the team."
"Naturally. But he makes the difference. In the other league, between Brooklyn and Philadelphia I must take Brooklyn. But then I think of Dick Sisler and those great drives in the old park."
"There was nothing ever like them. He hits the longest ball I have ever seen."
"Do you remember when he used to come to the Terrace? I wanted to take him fishing but I was too timid to ask him. Then I asked you to ask him and you were too timid."
"I know. It was a great mistake. He might have gone with us. Then we would have that for all of our lives."
"I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing," the old man said. "They say his father was a fisherman. Maybe he was as poor as we are and would understand."
Nothing more American than baseball. Even though Santiago and the boy are Cuban, they follow the Yankees and idolize Joe DiMaggio. If they were wearing red, white, and blue tee shirts and MAGA hats, they'd fit into almost any small town in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
On this day, the citizens of my country celebrate Memorial Day. It's a time meant to honor men and women in the United States' armed forces who lost their lives in conflict. Parades are held. Solemn ceremonies conducted at cemeteries. And then, everyone goes off to camp or the beach, barbecues hotdogs and hamburgers, cooks corn on the cob, and slices up some watermelon.
That's pretty much what we did today. A parade that lasted all of three minutes in the morning. Followed by cemetery service. A tour of relatives' graves. A nap. Watching Saving Private Ryan. Family barbecue. Then an episode of the new season of Stranger Things.
I have tried most of my adult life to honor the true meaning of this day and teach my children to do the same. I'm not particularly jingoistic in my patriotism, but I do recognize and honor the sacrifices people have made for the freedoms I enjoy every day of my life. Heroes who gave their lives so I can write my blog posts and poems. So my kids can love whomever they want (for now). And so that everyone I care about can live their lives the way they want without fear or discrimination.
That's what Saint Marty celebrates tonight.
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