Baseball, Fatherhood, and Peace


The Nice Thing About Strangers

The little old man playing the organ has lost most of his hearing, so he plays by heart. He plays beautifully, sweetly. Organs always make me think of baseball games, so I look at Father and wonder which coach he resembles.  It’s Catholic Mass at noon on a Wednesday, but there will be a seventh inning stretch.

A man and his grown son have matching hairstyles–smoothed with cream and combed into place. The father sometimes reaches for his son’s arm, taps him on the leg, offering a kind reassurance of his presence.

Most people here come alone. A room of widows, widowers, retirees and grandparents.  I adore a tall man with a cane, a missal, and a mustache. When I shake his hand and say, “Peace Be With You,” as we’ve been instructed, he replies: “Thank you very much.” I’m struck by it. I give him as much of a…

View original post 59 more words

This entry was posted in Uncategorized on by .

About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.