Grampy’s Red Sox and cheap Irish skin

To get started, let’s loosen up. Let’s unlock the mind. Today, take twenty minutes to free write. And don’t think about what you’ll write. Just write.

Keep typing (or scribbling, if you prefer to handwrite for this exercise) until your twenty minutes are up. It doesn’t matter if what you write is incomplete, or nonsense, or not worthy of the “Publish” button.

And for your first twist? Publish this stream-of-consciousness post on your blog.

Generally, I hate timed free writing assignments.  It reminds me of being back in school – not that school was bad.  It’s just I always find that timed writing prompts were painful.  Sometimes I would sit paralyzed – pen frozen in my hand.  Words unable to escape.  My face becoming first pink, then red as I was sure that everyone could see the empty page in front of me or worse yet my incomprehensible scribbling on the page in front of me.

My free writing by hand
My free writing by hand

Even when I free write in the privacy of my home, I feel vulnerable as though my other half can see what I am writing.  The color of my cheeks rises on my cheap Irish skin that I inherited from my grandfather.  Why I lament did I not get the olive toned Italian skin of my grandmother’s side of the family that my sisters are blessed with?  Instead I inherited my grandfather’s cheap Irish skin – prone to rises in color and sunburn.  Why, I didn’t inherit his metabolism – he was always able to eat anything he wanted and never gain any weight.  Unfortunately his metabolism gene skipped a generation or something like that as none of my sisters or I am blessed with his ability to eat cake and ice cream and not gain any weight.

In addition to his cheap Irish skin, I did inherit my grandfather’s deep abiding love for his Red Sox.  As a child, I did not much appreciate Grampy’s Red Sox – which had less to do with the Red Sox and more to do with the fact that when we visited Nana and Grampy’s house, Grampy controlled the TV and there were only three choices – Lawrence Welk, Candlepins for Cash, and the Red Sox. And watching baseball on TV was about as exciting as watching paint dry.

Today, however, I am part of the Fenway Faithful, a card carrying member of Red Sox Nation. Admittedly, I tend to do most of my sports following via the internet – checking on scores periodically throughout a game. As an adult, however, I have developed the ability to watch a full Red Sox game on TV and not complain; unless the Sox are losing then I will be throwing things, cursing and yelling at the TV as though the ump or my beloved Red Sox can hear me. I am not sure where or when I developed this habit of talking to the players, but, it is something I definitely do. I have had more than one conversation from the comfort of my living room with Big Papa as he is up to bat, coaching and cajoling him to hit one out of the park.


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