My Father And Me Comments

Another one of my favorite childhood memories is playing baseball with my father:

There I sat in January 1968. I was in the same position that I had been in for endless hours. I was in the midst of a scene typical in any hospital: the close relatives expressing their deep concern, the nauseating odor lurking throughout the hospital wing, and the scenic pictures, with good intentions of comfort, hanging in the waiting rooms and hallways. The doors leading to the operating room were the dominant, central feature of my view. They seemed not only to symbolize, but to actually be the gates separating heaven and hell, life and death. I stared at the door as intently as a hawk stalks its prey, only I was not searching for prey, but for anyone who was the bearer of good news. At any other time, those 'gates' would have been just another set of doors to me, but it was different now because my father was inside those 'gates'; he was fighting for his right to re-enter the gates of life after suffering a fatal cardiac aneurysm attack.
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