Well, the month of April is over, National Poetry Month. I didn't actually post a new piece of writing every day as I hoped to, but I did get quite a few pieces onto the web and overall I think it was worth it. I find I work better with an assignment, how about you? As a way to finish out that project - one last piece (another one about baseball and families) There were at least a thousand different moments that day August 13th 1971, my thirteenth birthday. It’s not the long line of baseball fans on a hot afternoon winding their way up the ramps circling Three Rivers Stadium like a python preparing for dinner. It’s not the grey concrete walkway speckled and spattered with chewing gum cigarette butts beer stains and something that might have been food. Not even the sudden rush of fans pushing together as the clubhouse door swung open and like baseball cards come to life, two Pirates emerged to sign autographs. It might have been the face of Roberto Clemente granite features with blazing eyes that met my own for an eternal moment but then maybe not even that. It was, however, the feeling of my feet leaving the floor and my father’s hands as he lifted me above the crowd and his voice younger than I had ever heard saying “There he is!, the great one!” That was the moment. That is the moment.