In this episode - Happy Birthday Rodger . . .
Today in history marks a memorable day for our family. On May 5, 1962, my Lil' brother Rodger was born (he's not so little anymore). Growing up, we were a close-knit family. Every morning, breakfast together, and dinner around the table each evening. Mom insisted. We spent weekends romping around Grandma's yard in the country. It was the 1960s, a great time to be a kid.
Recently, after attending a Celebration of Life, I thought, why don't we take time more often to celebrate someone's life while they're still with us? Do we need to be slapped by the abrupt loss of a loved one to stop, take time out of our hectic lives, and show love, appreciation, and respect to a friend or relative? And to openly share special memories of that person with others.
Well, not me; this podcast is designed to inspire a 60th birthday celebration of stories for Rodger Allen Ball. Allow me to start with a couple of treasured memories I recall growing up.
Like all siblings, we did our share of teasing and fights over what were no doubt silly things. Many recreational hours were spent with Dad fishing, in the woods, or at the ballpark.
Today, if I try to call Rodger or my brother Ronnie on a weekend, I always text them first, "You guys in the woods?”
When Rodger learned to ride a bicycle, Mom insisted he start with training wheels; why I'm not sure, maybe it was because of the multiple times, to avoid crashing, I drove my bike into her Lilac bush to dismount.
Anyway, Rodger had this tiny little bike that he rode around the yard and on the street in front of our house. Of course, he had his share of spills, especially when he ran into the ditch, but once the training wheels came off, that was it; he no longer wanted to ride that bike. He was insistent, downright belligerent. Yes, Ronnie and I made fun of him. But Mom lovingly encouraged him by running alongside, and he did learn to ride. I'll be honest after witnessing that fiasco; I've never been a fan of training wheels. "Let the kid crash a few times; he will learn.”
One of my favorite memories is the "Go-Cart story." You see, Rodger was born with a mechanical aptitude like no other. Or maybe it was his time spent working with Dad on so many projects. Anyway, he can fix just about anything.
As the story goes, we had an old rickety gasoline-powered riding lawn mower; it was an ugly green with a two-speed transmission. Dad had bought it used, and it looked like hell; then, one day, it just died. Dad announced, “This thing is headed for the junkyard.”
Rodger begged, "Don't junk it; I’ll fix it." And by late afternoon, he had converted that hunk-of-junk that refused to start to a GO-Cart that he rode around the yard - we were all amazed!
As with all families, our lives took separate paths. When Rodger was 15, I left home to attend college. After college, I moved to California. In 1988 Rodger traveled to California with Mom, Dad, and Michelle, to be the Best Man at our wedding.
In the late 1990's he co-owned the local True Value Hardware Store on the square in Cuba. He learned heating and plumbing and serviced the local residents. Everyone in town knows Rodger.
He is a softball legend in Fulton County, much like our father. One day while talking to Mom on the phone, she mentioned that Rodger was "somewhere trying out for a baseball team."
"A baseball team, what team, where?" She didn't know. I'm sure Rodger had told her, but it simply didn't register. Later, when I finally spoke to him, he traveled to the Cincinnati Reds training facility to try out for their Major League Ball club. He missed the cut; little did I know it was his third tryout.
It's been over 45 years since I left that small midwestern town. But whenever I'm back in town and happen to stop by Caseys for gas or a snack, inevitably, I'm asked, "Where are you from, who are you?"
"I'm Patrick, Rodger Ball's brother." That's all it takes to be embraced by the locals.
Happy Birthday Rodg . . . and many, many more. So who's next? It's time for you to share a story.
I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. I'll see you in the next episode.
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