I come from what my dad likes to call a “baseball family”. Fireman’s Field, the local sports complex, is where I spent a lot of my time. Since I was born, a large majority of my past time has been spent watching my siblings’ games. My siblings and I used to sit on the sidelines and patiently wait for time to move faster. We were notorious for constantly asking ,“Mom, is it almost over?”

We made friends with the other players siblings who were equally as bored as us. We had to find innovative ways to entertain ourselves with our surroundings. We would play with the dirt, grass, sticks, and anything we could find in the outfield. As children, it was easy to make anything fun for ourselves. Our favorite sound, however, was the ice cream man! We could always count on him to make it to each game. We had to beg our parents to buy it, and every so often, they would agree. It was definitely the highlight of the lengthy two hour ordeal. 

Every baseball game consisted of at least three crazy dads either yelling at their kids or about their kids’ playing time. It was always comical watching how angry some parents could get over a little league game. There were occasional fights, obvious embarrassment by the child, and every once in a while, someone would quit. As a child, I did not understand why parents became so irate over a children’s game, and even to this day I still cannot grasp the concept.

Each baseball field consisted of a mix between dirt and grass. The dirt was always hard, as if it had not been replaced in a long time. Before each game we watched as someone would place the white field chalk on the dirt to make the batter’s box and base lines. It was important that no person stepped on the line before the game, as it was known to bring bad luck. The metal fence would form around the field and home plate, creating a back stop. You would always hear the occasional “HEADS!”, indicating a foul ball traveling to the crowd of people watching. I can still recall the loud sound of the cleats hitting the concrete as the team made its way toward the dugout. The smell of the sunflower seeds being passed around to the players. I watched as the dugout floor transformed from spotless to seed covered. 

I picked up the language and rules of the sport through the constant viewing of games. By the time I had begun playing, I had a clear understanding of what I had to do. I understood the concept of outs and runs that many of the other children could not fully grasp in the beginning. After years of watching my brothers, I hoped to be just as good as they were. I was always the most motivated to perform well when they were watching. 

When I was in third grade, my family and I moved a few towns away from Fireman’s Field. Thus, I do not spend as much time here is as I used to. However, my most vivid memories of my first home take place at this field. This is the place where my softball career had begun. I learned so much through watching my older siblings. From t-ball all the way up until highschool I played softball. On my high school team we played a game against my old town, Valley Stream. Therefore, I traveled back to Fireman’s Field for the first time in years. I was a sophomore at the time and going back evoked many nostalgic memories of my childhood. Everything seemed so much smaller since I had last been there. It made me reflect on my time in both towns. From watching my siblings play, to practicing for my own t-ball team; I practically grew up at this place. 

I come from a large family with six other siblings. Each of us having characteristics that made us evidently different from each other. Fireman’s Field, however, served as a unifying force for my family. Each of my siblings have played baseball or softball at some point. It was something that we all shared, allowing us to become closer as siblings. We used to practice together all the time. From simple catches together, to even being guest players on each other teams. This was the one thing that all seven of us had in common at a young age. Making it a great opportunity for all of us to bond. Most of us, similarly, have a rather strained relationship with our father. We tend not to see eye-to-eye on many things religiously, politically, culturally, morally etc. but playing softball and baseball was the only time when each of us could put aside our differences with our father and just play the game. He has coached each of us at different stages in our lives, and although we still fought over whether or not we should have caught that fly ball or if the third strike called was because the umpire needed glasses, we were able to connect with him on something. 

It is evidently very easy for fights to break out when nine people live together. Fireman’s Field, however, served as our place of unity. Thus, a large majority of my most memorable aspects of my childhood take place there. This sport has played the biggest role in creating the strong bond that my family shares today.