Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller The house is quiet tonight, for the first time in three weeks. Twenty-three days, to be exact. That’s because Tyson and Brooks are gone. Their parents retrieved them this afternoon, af­ter a long vacation. Brooks, Queen Ida, Noah and Tyson. We’d been talking about today for a week or so, about when Mom and Dad would come. Mostly I did the talking, out of some sense of duty that the boys should be missing their parents more. I told them my “Mommy-Daddy Tomorrow” story.  http://davidheiller.blogspot.com/2011/04/mommy-daddy-tomorrow-february-3-1983.html That’s what this one kid at Camp Courage (back in 1972 would say, countless times every day, “Mommy-Daddy tomorrow?” He really missed his parents, but he drove us counselors nuts, for 10 days straight. We couldn’t wait for the day when he would say “Mommy- Daddy tomorrow?” and we could shout, “Yes, Jimmy, Mommy-Daddy are coming tomorrow!” When that morning finally arrived, we crowded around his bed. But Jim...

David Heiller As we headed outside for a walk on Saturday a fternoon, I glanced at the indoor-outdoor thermometer. I looked again, more closely. Nah, it couldn’t be. I started to say something but stopped. My eyes were playing tricks on me. Seventy-two degrees? As I sat outside putting on my boots, Cindy and the kids came rushing past. “It’s 72 degrees!” Cindy said. Oh Spring! “It can’t be 72 degrees,” I said, even though I had just looked at the thermometer myself. “Are you sure it wasn’t 62 degrees?” “No, it’s 72 degrees,” she repeated. We sta rted on our second walk of the day. This time we had a menagerie, Steve Bonkoski and his four children, plus Cindy and me with our two. As we straggled out onto the gravel road heading south, Cindy pointed down the road. A 30 foot stretch of road was covered with flowing water. On our first walk that morning, the road had been bare. Seventy twο degree March days will do that to Pine County roads. Not many minutes passed ...

David Heiller Ghosts of baseball past and present are mingling like a couple of old timers at the ballpark these days. For the present, baseball is haunting the four kids in our household, ages 4-7, my own two and the two we have temporarily adopted. Two or three times a day they ask, “Can we play ball now?” And you can’t just answer “Sure,” not when you’re the only one that can throw the ball across the plate. The American League has its designated hitter. The Birch Creek League has a designated pitcher: me. I’m also the entire infield, outfield, and umpire. Actually, it’s pretty fun, if you don’t mind dodging a winter of dried dog droppings, retrieving balls from the sinkhole in the driveway, and most of all, being patient. All the rules apply, except  you can't strike out in family ball! Patience, as with all kid activities, is the main requirement, mainly because you can’t strike out in our game, which is lucky for Tyso n and Mollie. Ten or 12 swings before...