My Aunt Janet died at age 89. Her ashes were buried in the cemetery in Needham, MA this weekend near her parents, my grandparents. Born in 1930, she was the youngest of my mother’s siblings. She was an outstanding high school basketball player, a teacher in her early adult years, and an ordained minister for most of her career. I have many memories of Janet, but the one that stands out was in the summer of 1959.
I was one week short of my 10th birthday. Dad had brought my older brother, Jim, and me to Portsmouth, NH where he was to preach for a church that wanted to call him as their pastor. Mother was at home, great with child, along with my two younger brothers.
The three of us made the long drive in our ’56 Ford sedan. I have vivid memories of many things about that trip, but the one experience that stands out to me most involved Janet. I don’t know how this event was arranged, who suggested what to whom, but Janet took Jim and me to Fenway Park to watch the Red Sox play the Yankees.
She was living in Rockport, so I guess she took the train to Boston and we met her at the station. All I know is that she took two young boys, eager to see a major league game, on the MTA to Fenway Park. Just being there was thrilling. I tried to keep track of each hitter on a scorecard, which I still have. I got to see some heroes, Jensen, Malzone, Mantle, Berra, and of course, Ted Williams.
Dad gave us the family Browning box camera to take pictures, black and whites I still treasure.
Thinking back on that experience, my perceptions are shaped by my age at the time. Janet was an adult who clearly knew what she was doing. I trusted her and followed her through the strange and exciting experience of the subway, the ball park turnstiles, the noisy crowd, all in a place that was foreign to me.
In August of 2019 I visited Janet in Scandinavia House and reminded her of that trip. It was 60 years ago that week that she had taken us to Fenway. She smiled and replied, “I remember.” She paused and then said, “That was the only time I was ever at Fenway.” It suddenly dawned on me what a courageous thing it was she had done. As a young woman of 28, she took responsibility for my brother and me through unknown territory in order to give us an experience.
And what an experience it was, one that I am grateful for every time I hold the scorecard and thumb through it and think of her. Thank you, Aunt Janet.
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