The Dying of Childhood

For anyone from Minnesota, Kirby Puckett was at the very least a well know sports figure. For a kid who grew up playing baseball everychance he could get, Kirby Puckett was the symbol of everything a kid hoped to be. In small towns all over Minnesota, a whole generation of kids fought over "who got to be Kiby" when they played ball games in their parks and backyards. They would imitate his batting style, or pretend to "rob a home run" from an opponent. My first memory of being at a baseball game was hearing the anouncer call out. "Now batting, the center fielder! Ker-beeee Puckett!" In my home, going to a baseball game was as much of a family event as Christmas. There was presents, food, and family time, who cares about santa clause, we wanted to see Kirby Puckett!
Perhaps this saddness is increased by the way the memories ended for me. They faded as his life dispeared from the public scene in recent years. They also faded during a time which my life changed. Kirby became a star when I was just old enough to play ball in 1986, he retired my senior year of highschool as my ball playing were at an end. I have grown up and made friends who for the most part have no connection to this enormous part of my years. The icon of my childhood is dead.