I watched President Obama introduce the new head of the FBI, which made me think of a young man who's father was an FBI agent and my search for his name in the World Series baseball roster for the past fifty years.
My son and this young boy, the star pitcher, played on a Little League baseball team together. When it became apparent they may go all the way -- a bombshell hit. The star pitcher may not be here because his father was being transferred to Seattle and thus the team would lose their pitcher for their big World Series type play-off.
We asked the pitcher's parents if he could stay with us until our Little League season ended. They agreed, provided their son was okay with the arrangement.
It was a fun time having him with us. I remember especially scaring him witless when I cackled like witch dressed in black on Halloweeen when he was out trick-or-treating with my children.
Rather than accept his parents' offer of money for room and board, I asked the young boy to sign a contract saying: I promise if I ever pitch in a true World Series, I'll send you air and game tickets.
For years and and years and years I kept checking pitchers on rosters and never saw his name.
I'm now nearly 94. My son is nearly 70 and this young would-be pitcher must be the same age as he is. Now I've stopped checking.