It was in my seventh grade English class. Our teacher, Mrs. Hirschhorn, assigned us an essay to write about a hero.At the time, I was a huge baseball fan. Strike that. I was a huge Mets fan. That's a distinction I may expound on in another post if I ever feel like it. At any rate, I was rabid. Tom Seaver was my favorite player.
For those who are unaware, Seaver was the first true superstar the Mets ever had. His acquisition by the Mets (through an odd sequence of lucky events) is often cited as the first fundamental step in turning the team from a motley crew of lovable losers into a respectable club (and the 1969 champions). I won't spend the time here cataloging Seaver's achievements and awards. Suffice to say his career to that point was impressive.
So I wrote my essay about Tom Seaver. I was proud of it when I wrote it. In it, I expounded on what a great ballplayer he was -- I mentioned his awards, his one-hitters, his achievements as one of the era's power pitchers.
Mrs. Hirschhorn. wasn't kind to the essay. I don't remember what grade I got -- or even if the essays were graded as such. But her comments were to the point, even though she didn't address the quality of the writing itself. She told me that she had no doubt that Seaver was a superb ballplayer. But, she asked, what can I point to show that he's a good person. That stung. I resented Mrs. Hirchhorn's reaction. But, decades later, the message she was trying to convey has stuck with me.
Thank you, Mrs. Hirschhorn, wherever you are.
Had Seaver been traded by the time you got to seventh grade?
ReplyDeleteYes, he had. But he was still my favorite player. For years, it pained me that he threw his only no-hitter as a Red.
Delete