The Times has a nice story about the early Mets today. And it’s especially nice for me on the first anniversary of my father’s death. One of my earliest memories is him taking me to the Polo Grounds in 1962 or 1963. I don’t remember much about the game except the great name of the Mets’ catcher, Choo-Choo Coleman. And I remember how green everything seemed to be from the stands to the field.
And there was a brief moment—probably no more than ten seconds that felt like ten hours to me—when we got separated in the crowd after the game. I’ll never forget the enormous relief I felt when he grabbed my hand and I looked up to see him.
He could always make me feel safe. And that’s perhaps the most important thing any parent can do for their child.