It must have been hard for my father to dash my eight-year-old dreams, his voice quivery as he assured me that I would not grow up to play second base for the Yankees. He replaced (or tried) my bat and glove with a tennis racquet, and we set out together to hit another kind of ball. But I still have my glove just in case. I'm a baseball fan.
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The same omens that alarmed Lincoln petrify us now. October 18th protests—November 4th elections—60 years of Neil Young. “There’s a full moon risin’ / Let’s go dancin’ in the light.”