un dia, mi padre me di un regalo tan rico
Sometimes, you grow up going to church and you perform all the routines and rituals and then as you get older you kind of grow out of all that and either you chuck it all out the window or you adapt and personalize it.
I'd like to think I've wholly ditched Catholicism etc since I believe in science and evolution and humanism and organized sports but I'm still compelled to give something up for Lent, I occasionally cross myself, and I find myself going home on Sundays to spend time with my family.
This Sunday my father, a man with a murky past, presented me with an old scorebook he'd found at that mad good second hand bookstore in Plainville. You know how when you buy checks, the printers helpfully stamp the first couple of numbers of the year where the date goes? Well, this one's date column has the first THREE year numbers printed: 195_. How shortsighted of those uptight, buzzcut, lawnmowing white men who worked at Wilson Athletic Equipment. (I'm talking to you, IRWIN M. HOWE!) Atomic Age my ass!
So thank you, Father, for the relic. But now I don't know if I want to write in it.