Playing For Youth

Everyday it was the same thing.

Everyday it was the same routine.

The alarm clock would go off, well before the sun had even begun to consider cresting over the horizon. Before the newspapers had be delivered. But not before the coffee machine had started, wafting the lovely rich aroma throughout the apartment. He never wanted to leave the comfort of his bed until the waves of coffee hit his nose. It was a quick little pick up - all he needed to begin the day. Next came a quick shower, just enough to shock his system so he'd make it to the pot of caffeine that was waiting for him on the kitchen counter. Once he was dressed, he'd pour himself a cup with a sprinkle of sugar, a splash of milk, and slurp it down. Serving number two always came with him out of the house, in his thermos of choice.

It never took him too long to get to work, although it could change day to day. One morning, he could be riding the train down to lower Manhattan to work on one of the new buildings that was going up, while the next he could be riding in a company truck out to JFK to wire some of the new terminals. At least it kept things fresh. He never really knew where he needed to go until he checked his phone as he walked out the front door.

Today called for a school being renovated near central park. Perfect.

Regardless of where he was summoned, he knew it was going to be a long, hard day. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he could consider a day on the job as easy. By the time he clocked out, his lower back was always on fire, knees sore from being on them all day, hands rough and dry - usually cut up from all the wires. It was inevitable that dirt and plaster would be caked under his fingernails and matted to his eye lashes - nearly impossible to dig out without soaking them first. Even with the respirators they wore, he lungs hurt, only able to take shallow breaths. It was union work. But he didn't mind it.

When the day was finally over and the night shift begun, the routine, as always, would continue.

He'd gather his things, punch out, and head towards the park. Sometimes it'd take him a little while to get there depending on traffic or a problem with the rail lines, but he knew they wouldn't start without him. Regardless of how late he was, they'd always be there, talking and laughing amongst themselves, waiting for him to show so they could begin.

There was no greater feeling than the dirt beneath his cleats as he walked out onto the diamond. It was soft and cushioned his soles - unlike the pavement or linoleum he had spent the previous day on. By the time he reached the plate, his muscles no longer ached, his back wasn't stiff, his lungs didn't burn. There was something special about their nightly routine. It allowed them to be young again. Rounding the bases, charging in from the outfield, diving for a ground ball - all filled with a youth they had assumed was long forgotten. Their laughter always carried into the night, bouncing off the trees and echoing throughout the park.

It was the part of his routine he looked forward to every day.