“Memories of childhood were the dreams that stayed with you after you woke.” ~Julian Barnes
Childhood memories lend texture to adult experiences that at time baffles because certain moments exceed the level of significance one might expect. That explains why this year’s World Series was more to me than an epic battle between two evenly matched teams playing America’s game on the largest possible stage. Earliest childhood memories include my father, a transistor radio, and the Houston Astros. These were the boys of the Dome, and our connection to them was via AM radio waves. We lived a mere hour from Houston, but a boilermaker’s salary did not allow for tickets to view games in person, so we did the next best thing–we listened and imagined. To this day, I prefer radio because of the images I conjure born of imagination. Our evening ritual found us either outside piddling in the garage or sprawled across my parent’s’ bed playing cards, but regardless the activity we listened to our team night after night. Watching the Astros win the World Series was dreamlike, and it was wonderful to share the moment with my wife, an avid ‘Stros fan in her own right, but I cannot help but imagine what it would have been like to hear the final out described and triumph declared over the radio with Dad nearby–the Houston Astros are World Series champions!