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American Tale
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TITLE (EDIT)
American Tale |
DESCRIPTION
"I stood behind the old man in the check-out line at the local convenience store. A navy blue Yankees hat covered a head of sparse gray hair. He carried an old framed photo which he proudly laid on top of his two Sunday papers as he rooted around in his pocket for the money. "See this here picture? I've had this for years. It's worth a fortune," he boasted to the Indian gentleman behind the counter. "It's Mantle, old Joe D., and Ted Williams."
[629 words] |
AUTHOR
Steven R. Kravsow |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I have been writing for the past 10 years. I have written short stories, essays, Op-Ed pieces, magazine length articles, and 3 novels entitled, "The Acorn Academy," "Boneman," and "Puppet Boy." I am presently at work on my 4th novel entitled, "Square Pegs."
[February 2000] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (13)
A Better Place To Be (Short Stories) Bennie Dean is a tiny little man with a crooked little smile who marks the passage of his day following the rituals of breakfast, lunch, and dinner at a Continuing Care Center. But do not be sad for B... [788 words]
A Place To Stay (Short Stories) Arnie Westin was a con man-- a nickle and dimer always looking for the quick score. Arnie had a plan-- genious really. But Arnie is about to discover that you don't always get what you want. [5,217 words]
Loonies (Short Stories) A car slowly gained on him. Soon it was even with Daniel's. It was a black sports model, low slung and powerful looking with black tinted glass and black sidewall tires. He looked over at the black ca... [4,959 words]
Photo Man (Non-fiction) I stood at the airport fence looking at a vintageB-24 Liberator. And then I saw the tiny little man. He wore his old Army Air Force fatigues, perfectly laundered and looking like it was still 1944. Hi... [2,560 words]
Play Ball: The Real Rite Of Spring (Essays) I love the spring. Wanna know why? Because spring is the time of year when good things begin to happen. And like anyone else, I like good things to happen. And if they happen to me, then so much the b... [917 words]
Riding The Line (Short Stories) Rosie McClusky loved to ride the bus, losing herself in the tapestry of the city. She loved the way it wound its way through the sleepy city early in the morning and she loved the way it meandered bac... [918 words]
Songs From My Attic (Essays) While rummaging through my attic, I discovered a box of old sheet music from the turn of the century. It painted a rich tapestry of who we were in the early 1900's, what we believed, and portrayed the... [1,878 words]
Stars & Stripers (Non-fiction) He was a tiny man with a scrapbook. He'd served as a reporter for Stars & Stripes during World War II. And he was one of the first inside Buchanwald. He carried his scrapbook under his arm and his sto... [1,081 words]
The Debunking The Dreaded Shopping Spree (Essays) The English language has approximately 500,000 words, and these words, in and of themselves, are quite benign.The other day that dreaded combination was uttered to me, and my life changed. I was heade... [1,715 words]
The Family Executioner (Non-fiction) In the early hours of December 11, something terrible happened. William Beadle, known to his friends and neighbors as an honest and forthright man, took an ax and hacked his wife and four children to... [4,795 words]
The Left Arm Of The Law (Short Stories) Charlie Underwood was a good cop. But sometimes even the best laid plans and a lifetime's work can disappear in the bl;inlk of an eye. And when that happens, a guy like Charlie Underwoord has to have ... [5,317 words]
The Tree House (Short Stories) When you're a kid growing up, there are always three rules you need to remember-- look both ways before crossing the road, keep your bike oiled and the tires filled, and watch out for the Shoots! Ever... [3,691 words]
Trading The Metal (Non-Fiction) "Today was a good day for me, or so I thought. I had traded in my aged 4-door Taurus, after bleeding it as dry as turnip blood on a stone. In its place stood a bright red beauty that was not only econ... [1,234 words]
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American Tale
Steven R. Kravsow
I stood behind the old man in the check-out line at the local convenience store. A navy blue Yankees hat covered a head of sparse gray hair. He carried an old framed photo which he proudly laid on top of his two Sunday papers as he rooted around in his pocket for the money.
"See this here picture? I’ve had this for years. It’s worth a fortune," he boasted to the Indian gentleman behind the counter. "It’s Mantle, old Joe D., and Ted Williams."
The Indian smiled politely but only shook his head. I assumed he didn’t really know who those baseball icons were. The old man picked up his papers and the photograph and headed out the door. Now it was my turn.
"You know, if that photo is the real thing, then it really is worth a lot of money," I said, making idle conversation.
The clerk looked at me. "You know, America is a strange country. Here, you save and collect things—cars, baseball cards. I don’t understand. We don’t hang on to things ion my country. You make money, you put it in the bank where it is safe. You got to keep cards for 50 years, then if you spill something on them all is ruined. You can keep cars but they all break sooner or later. Yes, my friend, put money in the bank where it is safe. That is my advice to you."
I was taken aback by his comments.
"I’ll have to ponder that one," I replied lamely. I paid for my papers and left.
Perhaps we Americans collect things, hold on to things because we’ve managed to be well-off enough as a country to have a period of reinforced childhood called adolescence and enough disposable income to spend on trivia.
Collecting allows us to hold on to our childhood. In his country, there is no childhood, no adolescence. The responsibilities relegated to adulthood come early. He probably began working to help his family when he was six so he has no adolescence to hold on to, no protected childhood to hold dear.
Perhaps we collect baseball cards to revisit a childhood that was free from adult pressured and expectations. Is it no wonder that despite baseball management’s stupidity, we are still drawn to the game that spoke so eloquently to us as children.
Who could not love the smell of freshly mowed grass, the sound of hot dog vendors hawking their wares, the sight of incredibly young men tossing balls, their echoes smacking the sweet spot s on wooden bats.
I attended my first baseball game back in 1958. I can still vividly recall the explosion of colors that greeted me when I walked up the runway and headed for the grandstand with my father. Thee is no green like the grass of a ballpark, no blue deeper than the sky overhead, no orange like the crushed brick that forms the warning track that circles the powder blue outfield walls covered with multicolored advertisements. I had that experience. I doubt my Indian friend had one like it when he was growing up. And every time I think of it, for just the briefest of moments, I am eleven years old again.
Yes, I could collect cars, and after a while they will surely break. I had a huge baseball card collection when I was a child. I have a small one today. I saw the old man’s picture and it struck an emotional chord with me. I recognized value; not monetary value, but rather value to my soul. For as I stood behind him and looked at the youthful images of The Mick, and Joe D., and The Splendid Splinter—frozen in time—for the briefest moment I was a child again.
And that, my friend is like money in the bank for me.
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READER'S REVIEWS (2)
DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"Excellent! There was so much feeling behind these words. The story hit home as to how I feel, too. Keep up the great work, Steven. :o)" -- Tammy, VA.
"Once again, Steven, you prove your word wizardry with this short story....magnificent imagery and the theme is universal...what do we value and why? It is the story of life itself that gives credence to those things we hold so dear. Keep up the good work....Teresa" -- Teresa , Kentucky.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 1996 Steven R. Kravsow |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
September 2000 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2395
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