The smell of fresh cut grass, hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the grill, the hard feel of a rough cut bleacher seat underneath, even the smell of chalk line dust wafting in the breeze, and the pop of a baseball off a wooden bat spring forth from comforting memories of youth. That ball, its cork center wrapped in wool and cotton yarn with two pieces of figure eight cowhides held together with waxed red stitching creates a strong gravity in the universe of youth. Tom was on top of the world as a ten year old boy growing up in Thomasville, Georgia. Playing baseball was his summertime joy. He played with neighborhood friends and made friends on the field that lasted a lifetime with the common language of playing ball. Life's lessons were tested and lesson were learned on the playing field. They didn't play for money. They didn't play for fame. They played because they loved the game. Baseball isn't how life is. Baseball is how life ought to be.