Hello, Mr. Berkman

Sunday, January 15, 2012

“Now, Collette, it’s nothing to get too upset about…”
Dad greeted her at the door with a stack of bulletins in hand, in his ever-black suit.
Collette’s Sunday-smile faded…
“What happened?”
“Well… someone took your seat in there…”
“What?”
“It’s an elderly couple though…”
The one thing that spared them.
So Puck marched inside wearing OLeif’s old Cubbies vest, Chick-fil-A cow digital wristwatch, a bag filled with several handfuls of silver star confetti, a tin of fisherman’s throat lozenges in the other hand, and peanut butter smudges on his shirt. And Collette managed to content herself with the seat nearest the windows, which she had not claimed since 2007. The longer she sat there, the more she sort of liked it again, really…
And, once more, the visiting doctor from Kirk of the Hills.
As the service concluded, Puck high-tailed it for the donut table. Collette managed to catch him before he got to number three. He did, however, seat himself on the floor by the door to the usher’s closet without being asked so that he did not leave a trail of crumbs. No Sunday School for the morning. Puck had a cough. No need to spread the germs.

Back on the ranch where further donuts were being ravaged on the counter, Puck was upset because he “wasn’t allowed” to show Joe his bag of twinkling stars…
“Sun, everything you say isn’t really magic. But anyway, it doesn’t even matter. Because I can show the stars to Uncle Joe.”
“Well, don’t blame me if he disappears,” Carrie-Bri replied.
“Aw. No more powdered sugar donuts?” Collette asked.
Meanwhile, Carrie was preparing to lay down another coat of polyurethane on the floor.
“Aw. No more powdered sugar donuts?” Elodie-Rose asked.
Mom and Dad returned with the kids from Sunday School. Linnea was recovering from a night of swing dancing. Meanwhile, the definition of sin was brought up by Joe as they clustered around the bags of chocolate donuts.
“That which separates you from God,” Rose announced.
“You have chocolate on your two front teeth, Rose.”
“You should charge people to pinch you cheeks, you know,” Carrie told Puck. “You could say, ‘Ten cents. Whenever you poke my cheek.’”
Meanwhile, Carrie’s chocolate-amber-glazed floor was looking very much like something out of a kindly worn downtown office from the 1930’s. Rose pulled up another R.C. Sproul lecture. Joe was editing video on his laptop, wearing his brown mobile home t-shirt, labeled: “Dreams Really Do Come True”.
It was going to be an unconventional Sunday afternoon. Mom had the party to attend by one o’clock at Aunt Tuuli’s. And at about two o’clock, the little Silverspoon family departed for the Hyatt-Regency downtown.

Puck was looking snazzy in his red Cardinals t-shirt and wellies. Half an hour later, they were parked in the Mansion House garage and tromping across a few side streets to the entrance of the hotel.
This time, the ball rooms were reserved for vendors… somehow Collette had the idea they had long ago surpassed their 237-person occupancy limit. There was food somewhere. Collette had half a recollection of three layers of croissant sandwiches stacked on a table someplace. And the upper ballrooms were prepared for the autograph sessions.
Puck did great, really. 45 minutes in line. A little stuffed in the tepid hot air of hundreds of eager fans toting poster rolls, bats, and balls. Collette fanned them with the stapled schedule. After awhile of actively searching the crowd, Puck looked up at her with two large, hazel, blinking eyes…
“Mama?”
“Yes, Puck.”
“Could I sit down?”
Her sweet little boy. He might be swinging from the fan blades at one moment. But in the next he was as calm and as docile as a lamb.
No security. Yelling instructions back and forth, whistling, snaking lines. Miscommunication with ordering people correctly for their entrance… But finally the cooler air of the ball room was open to them, and their entrance was made, convoluting through the maze of metal pipes wrapped in red and blue curtained cloth. After that, everything happened very quickly…
“You know,” said the guy in front of them turning around to OLeif, “you look a lot like Jason Motte. You’d better be careful. People are going to start chasing you down.”
OLeif had already been told this by fellows at work. And sure enough, as they continued their rapid approach to the tables, Jason Motte was meandering around in the background. Not too far off; they could be cousins, maybe. And on the other side of the room, Matt Holliday was also signing. Lance Berkman was set for two solid hours of signing baseballs, posing for photos, and being admonished not to sign anything but baseballs. The couple in front of them was immediately chastised for hoisting a jersey to the table to be autographed.
“No,” said the official adamantly. “You cannot sign that.”
Another official just looked at Collette and shook his head as if in disgust that anyone would dare approach the lauded player with anything but a baseball. However, Lance Berkman had said something to the effect of…
“Really? Why not? I don’t mind. I’ll just sign it”, and signed it anyway.
He also seemed to be maybe a little annoyed that it would be made into such a big deal, and was already looking a little photograph-weary as they arrived at the end of the line. When it was their turn, Puck was hoisted up in his daddy’s arms, clutching the MLB-approved baseball, which, with an embarrassed grin, he handed to Lance Berkman for autographing…
“Hello, Mr. Berkman.”
“How ya’ll doin’?” Lance asked, with a tired smile over the cacophony, and returned the autographed reward.
“Thank you, Mr. Berkman!” Puck called out happily.
“Thanks,” he said as they left. “Thanks much.”
He had a nice signature. OLeif purchased a three-dollar display case to house the prize. Puck might as well have been given a treasure chest spilling over in pearls, rubies, and gold coins. He didn’t want to part with it.
And then down one level to purchase a small David Freese t-shirt for Linnea, who was…

Snoozing on the couch when they returned to collect the laptops. Mom had returned from the party and joined the girls at the mall. But there was no time to sit around and chat…
“You’re already leaving?” Francis asked.
“You’re leaving already?” Joe asked.
The party had come to an end for the day. And while OLeif collected a few essential groceries at the store, Collette and Puck listened to some rather intense Arabian bazaar music on the radio.

So, yeah… it was with little apology that the evening ended with Wendy’s (with brightly colored plastic Smart Links connecting toys in Puck’s happy meal), bridge mix (i.e. dried plantains, cashews, pretzel-stuffed M’nMs, and butterscotch chips), and the Golden Globes. While OLeif attempted to read Exodus at the same time.