My grandfather wore a ring on his left hand. Him and my grandmother had gotten it in Jamaica many years ago. On it was a red cardinal with multi-colored triangle designs surrounding it. On the inside of the ring, carved in tiny letters, was the logo of the makers but it is too far back in my memory for me to remember what it said. I was five when he gave me that ring. My small bony fingers allowed the ring to easily slip off, so my dad took the ring away until I was old enough to wear it. Me and my best friend got a friendship necklace and next to the half of a heart that came with the chain I added my grandfather’s ring. Once I went on a flight to go see my grandmother at Stanford as she was doing a senior course. When I returned home after a weekend of bathing myself in the California sun I dug around in my backpack to find that my grandfather’s ring was nowhere to be found. I felt as if there was a huge hole in my stomach, as if I had somehow lost more of him. I was seven when my grandfather died. I knew death happened but I didn’t understand it. I remember going upstairs, where my grandparents lived, and sitting next to babas bed. My dad and my mom stood by my side as I held my stuffed bunny close to my heart, as if to protect it. I knew he had been sick for a while because his heart didn’t pump enough blood which was why his feet were always purple. That night my grandmother’s dog woke her up in the middle of the night and led her to my grandfather’s side. She watched him take his final three breaths and his soul swim away with a smile. My story reflects on the wider world around me by talking about loss. Us as humans have all experienced loss. We have all experienced sadness. We have all experienced pain either mentally or physically. We have all lost someone close to us and gained someone who changed our lives for the better. This is simply how life works, we are knocked down over and over but find the will and the strength to stand again only now to find that we are stronger than before.
refugee
Deep Observation, by Noah
At 8:30 pm I—still wet from my post-swimming practice shower– sat down on my soft blue couch with a plate of warm red pasta in my lap to watch the Cincinnati Reds take on the Milwaukee Brewers. After about 10 minutes two of my dogs, Butter the coonhound, (with her floppy ears and her habit of turning three times before curling up in a ball) and Albus, the old beagle, (with the tilted head and long pink tongue that sticks out the side of his mouth) crowded into the room and onto the couch next to me. My 6-year-old brother Thomas announced his entrance with his Black Panther spear and usual question of, “Did someone hit a cycle?” referring to his pride of knowing what a cycle in baseball is. (A player hits a single, double, triple and homerun in the same game.) The small green tv room is mostly all couch with a floor covered in Thomas’ toys and a wall of my mother’s books. Everyone on the couch always snuggles in one of the many fleece blankets with Santas or gnomes or orange bats that we seem to collect from Kroger the supermarket each holiday. On the flat platform top of the couch, dishes and glasses collect over the course of the night as I finish dinner and then we all snack on fruit, sherbet and root beer. In the top of the third inning Elly De La Cruz lifted a 456-foot homer to put the Reds on top of the Brewers 1 to 2! My brother and I whooped, yessssss!-ed, cheered and then high fived. My Dad ran into the room, late for the game. In the next inning, Spencer Steer made an error to the second baseman. After that play, my Dad and I both agreed that Spencer Steer should be playing 1st base. The sherbet was sweet and the root beer was fizzy. My Dad is wrapped in the gnome blanket between the wall of baby pictures and Butter. He talks to the players on the tv, criticizing errors that he is sure he would have avoided. His “yesssss!” is louder than mine and he usually pumps his fist Luis Castillo style. He is interrupted often by Thomas jumping on him while yelling, “Hulk-smash!” Dad flips him over on the couch for tickling. When the inning continues, they stop and settle down again. With each commercial break the three of us would repeat every commercial word for word. Only a handful of commercials are played during a game and they are played over and over. Most seemed to be public service announcements from the government and the acting was terrible. My brother laughed loudly and acted out the commercials. We both would start laughing as soon as we recognized the commercial. Near the end of the game, my dog Lucy joined and squeezed onto the couch, snuggling up to me with her big soft coat. The Reds lost the game in the bottom of the ninth inning when Christian Yelich hit a walk off single that scored Blake Perkins from 2nd. Only my dad and I were left with sleeping dogs difficult to wake up and the messy collection of Thomas’ toys. We collected the dishes to bring to the sink and made our way up the stairs to bed talking about the next Reds game to come.
Ethnographic Interview, by Noah
It was all about the Frosty Malt. Frozen solid in a paper cup with a thick wooden spoon “like a stick,” my dad said, it took a while to make its appearance. “They came around with the most popular items that people wanted like beer, popcorn, and hotdogs. But I kept looking.” When the vendor finally appeared, he could already taste the cold chocolatey goodness while sitting in the hot sun in July in Riverfront Stadium. My Dad’s grandma and grandpa were Reds fans. “It was a different time,” my Dad repeated often, explaining how no one watched baseball on tv when Great-Grandpa became a fan in the 1940s. Even in the 1980s when my Dad was a kid, he listened to games or looked for results in the newspaper the next morning, when my Dad was young, Great Grandma and Grandpa shared season tickets with friends from the bank, traveling to Cincinatti, 20-25 games a season. They took my Dad and a chosen friend to one game a summer. In Alexandira, Indiana, They would all jump into Great Granpa’s red Buick with a cooler full of soda. Halfway to Cincinatti, they would the stop the car at a rest stop to grab a coke from the cooler. Great Granpa was 6 foot 3 and never wore shorts. At Riverfront, a perfect “cookie-cutter” circle on the Ohio River, Dad would emerge from the underground parking lot and see that unmistakable green astro turf bright from the sun’s rays. There were four rows of seats: Blue, Green, Yellow, Red. Great Grampa always bought tickets in the green seats because an overhang blocked the direct sunlight during the game. Great Grandma would pull a pencil from her purse to keep track of the game on a scorecard. Great Grandpa would talk to the two boys about what was happening on the field. Dad marveled at how Grandma could call a homerun long before he was sure. Great Grandpa explained how when a player hits a ball there is a sound, and “if they barrel the ball” it is a particular sound that tells you the ball is gone. How did you fall in love with baseball? Grandpa was a big fan of baseball. It was different then. NBA didn’t exist. Football didn’t exist. In the 1920s. Baseball was the only sport. He listened to baseball games on the radio. Detroit Tigers games. He switched to the Reds fan in the 1940s when he was young man. He loved baseball. He went to Reds games. He took me. Who was your favorite player? Bo Diaz, catcher in the 1980s. Pretty good catcher, really, but not a superstar. Couldn’t see a game on tv. In the 1980s, they didn’t film games. 1983, probably doesn’t exist. I didn’t watch. See box scores in the paper. Grandpa: ice cream floats, Barry Larkin. Now? De La Cruz, hard not to be a fan. So exciting. Joey Votto. Matt mcClean, young guys. If you become really attached, players become traded so often. Love the player while you got them, they will move on. Used to stay with team Leave early, backseat of Buick, red cars always drove. Drive to Cincinnatii from Alexandria. Halfway rest stop, cooler of soft drinks, cans. Wipe off cans. I want to get to the game. Different time. Go to bathroom. Parked underneath Riverfront. Parking pass. Shared season tickets, bank. 20-25 games. 1 game in the summer. Go in gates, all seats blue green yellow red. Green seats, Didn’t like the sun. Green seats second level, great view, 1st r 3rd baseline. Overhang. Big concrete emerged, astroturf was an electric green. You look out and slightly Wanted to eat: frosty malt, cup, frozen solid. Wooden spoon like a stick. Spoon not great but frosty malt. Least popular. Beer hotdogs. Grandma kept score on a scorecard with a pencil. Buy scorecard each time. One flavor chocolate. I didn’t get up much during game. Talked some. Always brought a friend. Grandma, knew it was homerun. When a player hits a ball there is a sound, if they barrel the ball, certain speed, exit velocity, didn’t know, and that determines. Grandma knew. Everything new. Riverfron tStaduoun 970-2001 or something. Cookie cutter stadium, bowl. Big deal in 1970s. Camden Yards, have character. Astroturf, different time. My height 6’3, always were pants, collar polo shirt, stripes, glasses and prescription sunglasses. Gold watch. Reds hat, shirt, didn’t wear. M Very frugal. 90 NCLS jacket for me and him. Riverfront remembered.
