Tag Day

Imagine being dressed in a bumble bee colored baseball uniform in late April on a Saturday and standing outside a grocery store. Add to that being the idiot who wore baseball cleats instead of sneakers and you can imagine me at ten years old doing Tag Day for the Williamsburg Youth League. Tag Day was sanctioned begging and tugging at the guilt laden weaknesses of anyone bold enough to carry change. Wait, that was nearly forty years ago, we all carried change. I hated Tag Day, but I also hated sitting the bench. I knew that my coach, God save his imprisoned soul (I’m bitter about that), would have taken playing time away from anyone who did not show up for Tag Day.

Basically, we stood for two hours in front of the grocery store by the Martin Cinema and asked people to drop money in our little containers. I’m a poor conversationalist with the people I know really well. I’m ridiculously poor at speaking with strangers, so going up to shoppers and asking them to make a donation for our league was way beyond my comfort level. I probably brought in less than ten dollars that first year. My begging partner was ridiculous. We were classmates and sat next to each other in fourth grade. I was the new kid in school and he seemed like the shy kid, but he raised so much money. It was sick the way he would get people to give him money. There wasn’t an ounce of begging or salesmanship in his request. He just had an aura. It would serve him well in centerfield and wherever else that magic was needed.

Three years of begging got us through battles as members of VFW Post 4309. We were competitive and cockier than we should have been. Those were some good years…

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