During these challenging times, I’ve been immersed in politics, especially after the siege of the Nation’s Capitol building on January 6, 2021.

I’ve been depressed and fearful for our country. Six people died during that incursion; many more were injured. Our country itself was irreparably damaged by people who have absconded with the title of “patriot,” although I saw no patriotic behavior on their part. Instead, I saw destruction, hatred and downright disrespect for the country I love.

We are five days away from the inauguration of a new president. I’m petrified what January 20, 2021 will bring in terms of violence.

Although I’ve been a political junkie since I was in the second grade, these last few days I’ve been trying to read books, magazines, newspapers–anything to give me some relief from politics.

I found it in today’s New York Times:

Anyone who knows me knows how much I love baseball. Mike Wilson’s article today gave me hope for the future. Even Major League Baseball doesn’t play a full season this year, even if my beloved Red Sox don’t get a new starting pitcher or a new closer, or a new second baseman, I have hope for my country after reading this piece. Even if we get another three feet of snow here in upstate New York before spring, I have hope.

Last week, I was in the basement and discovered the old glove I used when my son Tim and I used to play catch in the backyard at our old house in Schenectady. I don’t throw all that well, but he and I had fun when we had time to go outside and tossed the ball around. He’s 40 now and has his own kids. Reading this article brought me back to those days.

Yes, I’m still anxious about what’s happening in our country. Yes, I’m still seeing the visuals of what happened in the Capitol last week and I hope the perpetrators are brought to justice. But the sight of these men in their eighth decade of life (as I am) and younger men coming together in a park in Dallas, Texas brought tears to my eyes. We can come together, thanks to a little white ball with red cross stitches holding it together, popping in and out of baseball gloves of many colors.

Baseball. Masked faces speaking a universal language. Politics left outside the park. Each toss a path to hope. Each arm reaching out in unity. Truly a field of dreams. For us all.