By: John W. Scafetta
It's incredible how one innocuous moment can leave such a long-lasting impact on your life.
Like it was yesterday, I can vividly remember my grandfather placing me, a bony boy of four years old, in front of the TV, casually flipping the station to TBS and seamlessly taking a seat by my side.
Back then, the superstation would broadcast nothing but “The Andy Griffith Show” reruns, late-night infomercials and, of course, Atlanta Braves baseball. Even though I was just a little runt from upstate New York who had no direct ties to the state of Georgia, I was obsessively hooked. The sounds, the scenes, the red stitches engulfing each powder-white sphere in play — I loved it all.
As my grandfather religiously taught me the ins and outs of the game, I quickly soaked it all in.
Soon, he was marveling at the little monster he created—his scrawny, pint-sized grandson who could rattle off the names on each major league roster with encyclopedic accuracy.
Grandpa Bill passed just before my tenth birthday. When I first entertained the idea of writing a children’s book, back when I was still writing for newspapers, there were two things I knew for sure. 1.) The subject would most definitely be baseball. 2.) It would be dedicated to my grandfather and the lessons he taught me in the short amount of time I had with him.
My hope is that “Billy the Blue-Stitched Baseball” does him justice and resonates with all the young readers out there who dare to dream big.
You can find "Billy the Blue-Stitched Baseball" wherever books are sold this October.
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