Personal Legend (Marion Fricano)
My sister Carrie gave me a book for Christmas - I mentioned it before - The Alchemist - and I'm mentioning it again because it sort of has propelled me through week one of the new year. In it, the character finds that the best way to live is to follow your heart and find your own personal legend.
Well as usually happens when you're thinking of such heady things, the mind starts playing a trick and I thought of my father's cousin, my cousin too - Marion Fricano. He was a major league pitcher back in the 1950's and the Town Park in my hometown bears his name.
Yet what triggered his memory was a story about one of his sons, and as I told it to my boys, I mentioned that he had pitched in the major leagues. My boys were impressed, of course, and I explained that as a boy of about ten, Marion had thrown the ball to my brother and me in our backyard. I swear, I remember it as if it were yesterday. He threw the ball so hard! I also remember that he had cancer then - the cancer that eventually killed him - and I recall wondering if I could see the cancer on his body somewhere.
The mind does store a ton of information - the longer I thought of him - the more pronounced my memories became. I recall my father crying when Marion died - I've only seen my father cry on a handful of occasions and I remember how much I hurt to see him cry.
The Internet is a great tool. This evening, I punched Marion's name into the Google search and I read article after article about the man who threw it through our backstop when I was ten and cancer was killing him. (Read the articles! Now!)
His life was awesome - four kids, baseball, a stint in the US Navy, A Bachelor's Degree and a Master's in Education. He was the Town Supervisor, a good man by all accounts, and he even got a few Marion Fricano nights in the old hometown. And of course, the park is now named for him.
And I thought of all of this in the contents of looking up to a hero as a child, chasing a personal legend as an adult, and wishing the very best for my boys as they grow.
Marion had a hard road and died at 52, but he crammed a lifetime of achievements and memories into his shortened life - so many so that people these days would have to live to about 120 to get it all done.
The mind plays tricks and sometimes we remember those items that are pure treasures.
"He's on Wikipedia!" my boy Sam announced.
"Yeah, and that's really cool," I answered.
Well as usually happens when you're thinking of such heady things, the mind starts playing a trick and I thought of my father's cousin, my cousin too - Marion Fricano. He was a major league pitcher back in the 1950's and the Town Park in my hometown bears his name.
Yet what triggered his memory was a story about one of his sons, and as I told it to my boys, I mentioned that he had pitched in the major leagues. My boys were impressed, of course, and I explained that as a boy of about ten, Marion had thrown the ball to my brother and me in our backyard. I swear, I remember it as if it were yesterday. He threw the ball so hard! I also remember that he had cancer then - the cancer that eventually killed him - and I recall wondering if I could see the cancer on his body somewhere.
The mind does store a ton of information - the longer I thought of him - the more pronounced my memories became. I recall my father crying when Marion died - I've only seen my father cry on a handful of occasions and I remember how much I hurt to see him cry.
The Internet is a great tool. This evening, I punched Marion's name into the Google search and I read article after article about the man who threw it through our backstop when I was ten and cancer was killing him. (Read the articles! Now!)
His life was awesome - four kids, baseball, a stint in the US Navy, A Bachelor's Degree and a Master's in Education. He was the Town Supervisor, a good man by all accounts, and he even got a few Marion Fricano nights in the old hometown. And of course, the park is now named for him.
And I thought of all of this in the contents of looking up to a hero as a child, chasing a personal legend as an adult, and wishing the very best for my boys as they grow.
Marion had a hard road and died at 52, but he crammed a lifetime of achievements and memories into his shortened life - so many so that people these days would have to live to about 120 to get it all done.
The mind plays tricks and sometimes we remember those items that are pure treasures.
"He's on Wikipedia!" my boy Sam announced.
"Yeah, and that's really cool," I answered.
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