July 31, 2008

Grandpa Loved the Cubs

He was a quiet man, my grandfather, never saying much to anyone, yet always humming a tune softly to himself.

Whether he was sitting at the kitchen table playing a game of solitaire or nestled into his arm chair to watch the Cubs on WGN, Grandpa was a man of few words. Still, he always hummed. Always.

I can remember nearly every conversation I ever had with Grandpa Florian. We’d talk about baseball, the Milwaukee Brewers and Chicago Cubs especially, and I can still see the smile rise at the corners of his mouth as he reminisced about the days of Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron. His eyes shined as he spoke about homeruns and RBIs and which pitcher had the best average.

“Grandpa, which team is your favorite? The Brewers or the Cubbies?” I asked.

“Hmmm…well, let’s see…I don’t really have a favorite. But I do like the Cubs. I love the anticipation of seeing them go all the way. They just might do it yet, you know. Maybe even in my lifetime.”

I loved sitting on Grandpa’s lap as we watched baseball. Even though my dad was a Brewers fan and raised me to be the same, I took pride in cheering for the Cubbies with Grandpa. It was our secret.

“Little missy, your daddy better not catch you rooting for the Cubs! He might never let you come back here.”

“Okay, Grandpa. I promise I won’t tell him. I’ll say we watched Paul Molitor and Robin Yount on television and it was the most fun ever.”

Grandpa would kiss the top of my forehead, wink at me, and go right back to humming. That was his way of saying he loved me. Even though he smelled like Copenhagen and saltine crackers, I didn’t care. I just loved being with Grandpa.

As I sit here and watch the Chicago Cubs blow the snot out of my Milwaukee Brewers, secretly I’m cheering for those Cubbies. I imagine Grandpa is smiling down on me, happy that his little missy still loves baseball and kept a promise made so long ago.