New Year's Resolution and Roberto Clemente

Last night, New Year's Eve, after the kids were asleep, I found myself sitting with my in-laws watching the Times Square countdown coverage on Television. My two children and nephew, all under seven years old, had run the adults in the family pretty ragged over the few days prior. We settled in on the couch, having had a couple of drinks each during dinner, but rather than the typical reveling afterward, we took the opportunity to enjoy the calm of the house. Each settling in with our respective electronic devices on our bellies, we tuned in and out of the performances by Pitbull and Miley Cyrus and the commentary by Ryan Seacrest. We had already resigned ourselves to the fact that we would not be venturing out, but we initially prepared to be more social by stocking the house with beer, wine and champagne. After a very nice dinner cooked by my mother-in-law, and great conversation with my father-in-law, brother-in-law, and sister-in-law, we found ourselves winding down and it was only ten o'clock. Thinking about how I wanted to begin the New Year, I resolved to not waste time mindlessly trolling the internet on my iPad or standing in front of the glow of a television program that did not interest me in the least. Entering the year that I will turn forty, I thought that the best thing I could do was get a good night's sleep. Not so much because I felt older, but because I am slowly settling into the increasingly present responsibilities that I have as a full-fledged adult to think ahead and about my responsibilities to others; my wife and I planned already to return to Chicago from the suburbs of Virginia on January first, so I knew that I would feel much better traveling in our car if I were well-rested. So, I bid everyone goodnight, and by 11:00 on the East Coast, I was in bed.

I am not one to remember my dreams, but on the first day of the year I remembered a pretty vivid scene from the night before. I was walking through the corridor of a baseball stadium, under the stands, where vendors had their souvenirs spread out on the floor, much like you might find at an open-air artisan market in Mexico or South America. Their goods were still mass-produced, rather than the handmade items you would find in a market, but it was a unique setup given the hyper-commercialized nature of ballparks in today's era. One vendor's goods immediately caught my eye. The bright yellow and black hats were unmistakeably memorabilia from the Pittsburgh Pirates. I began trying on some of the hats. I wasn't sure that I was even in Pittsburgh or my home, Chicago, for that matter, but the Pirates' attire seemed naturally in place. The seller approached me and asked which hat I would like, as they had a whole variety, and the one I quickly chose, was the pillbox Pirates' cap that the players wore during their 1979 championship season. It was famous for it's unique design, the pinstripes around the hat, and the stars that adorned it, given as marks of recognition for great plays by Pirate player Willie Stargell. It was probably because of their World Series win that this became my first baseball cap as a five-year old. I was only ever vaguely aware of this connection until I began writing this post. The hat simply became something that I remember wearing frequently for a summer or two and then that sat in our Chicagoland home for years after without a clear reason. Back in the dream, I purchased the hat, feeling very satisfied, and remember nothing else.

So, when I awoke, I naturally thought the only connection was nostalgia for the hat. I lay in bed for a few minutes pondering the dream, which sat with me despite seeming pretty mundane; being that I rarely remember dreams, why this one?

I then found myself on my iPad, on Facebook, despite my previous night's hope to curtail my use in the New Year. A friend posted a photograph of Roberto Clemente, reminding us of the anniversary of his death 40 years ago on December 31st. At the tail end of an incredible career, the Puerto Rican superstar, in his late thirties, boarded a plane to Nicaragua, carrying supplies that he was donating to victims of an earthquake. The residents of Managua, Nicaragua were still recovering from its effects despite its taking place a full year before. Clemente decided to accompany the supplies because he had heard that previous donations he sent were intercepted by the corrupt Somoza government and never reached those that they were intended to help. As it approached its destination, the plane crashed and killed all those aboard.

Clemente is remembered as an excellent baseball player, with fifteen All Star seasons. But in my view he was more memorable as a man who broke barriers for Latinos and Latin American and gave to others to the end. In Chicago, his name has become synonymous with a high school in a neighborhood with a large Puerto Rican population and I sometimes wonder if the students there are fully aware of the pride that should be associated with their school's namesake.

As we enter the new year, a time when we make resolutions for ourselves to lose weight, drink less, or exercise more, I am going to resolve to follow the lead of Roberto Clemente, to focus on giving all I can to others; 40 years ago, ending his thirties, in a year that I turn 40, I resolve to willingly and happily give to others because I have been given so much; much more than my share. Perhaps it is an elusive dream, but it is one to remember.