Nostalgia of baseball gives us perspective

Some people convert religions when they marry; my dad converted from a Cubs to a White Sox fan. My siblings and I were raised in the Northwest suburbs with South Side pride.

We spent hours playing catch, Wiffle ball and running bases. Summer nights meant falling asleep with my bedroom window open and the final innings of the White Sox game playing softly in the background on the radio. Every summer meant a Kane County Cougars minor league game with our uncle. Come fall, I'd borrow the sports section of the Daily Herald from my dad and analyze the highlights of the previous day's game with him.

In July 2014, my brother and I drove from Chicago to Cooperstown to watch Frank "Big Hurt" Thomas give his tearful Hall of Fame induction speech. In October 2016, I called my grandpa and he told me about how he remembered listening to the Cubs games on the radio during their last World Series run in 1945.

My heart aches today, which should have been Opening Day. There was no crowd at 35th and Shields today, coming in off the red line or the Dan Ryan, excited to see the young team kick off what might have been one of the best seasons we've had on the South Side in too long. Baseball is home, family, nostalgia and a sense of normalcy.

Things are very difficult for many people right now far beyond the loss of a baseball game to watch. To paraphrase Hawk's call from Mark Buehrle's 2009 perfect game: call your sons, call your daughters, call your friends, call your neighbors. Tell your loved ones how much you care about them and to please wash their hands so we can get through this safely (no baseball pun intended).

Alyssa Arkin

Ocala, Florida (hometown Arlington Heights)