19 September 2015

A Voice from my Childhood Silent

Greetings Dear Reader,

I learned yesterday that Milo Hamilton, voice of the Atlanta Braves from 1966 – 1975 passed away.  He and Ernie Johnson were the voices that issued from my red Sinclair transistor radio.   In the evenings of my childhood summers he was my comfort as I drifted off to sleep.

I would sleep out on the porch of our non-air-conditioned Victorian house listen to him call the Braves games from his booth in Atlanta Fulton County Stadium.  Win or lose he was always upbeat and informative.  My Grandfather had great respect for him.  

His passing triggered the memories of other losses during that time in my life.  I was listening to Milo when I learned I would never see my Grandfather again.  He was still alive but I was forbidden to see him.  I listened to Milo the night my Grandfather reached the clearing at the end of the path.  I listened to him for years as a reminder of my connection to my Grandfather.

Every man’s death diminishes me.   The baseball world is smaller today.  This man loved baseball and spent his life telling us about it.  As I grow older more and more of my favorable childhood voices grow silent.  This loss echoes loudly in things I loved and love.

It is a salient reminder that so much of what we love is temporary and fleeting.  I must cherish every moment with those I love.  I must hope that they learn this lesson as well.  I must pray that we all do so.  I will ponder it out of love and respect for those who have given so much to that boy so long ago.  I will learn to live it out of love for my family. 

I must journey on until I join them after the final inning.  

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”

(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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