Prominence, If Only for a Moment

Second grade was the first of three years that I spent at Ridgebury Elementary School after my family moved back from Portugal, three years that remain far more clear in my mind than one might expect events from 30 years to be. While not a universally positive experience [see: Wizard of Oz preparation from the previous post], the vast majority of fellow students, teachers, and parents that I met in that time were so terrific that I often find my mind thinking back to these times. Not long after the start of the school year, all of the boys in the class were invited to the birthday party of a classmate named Brian. I was presently surprised to be included on the list of invitees, given that I was both new to the school and had not interacted terribly much with Brian. This had very little to do with Brian, who I recall being a very pleasant and friendly kid, but was much more related to the fact that I did not have the emotional energy to build close relationships with everyone in the class.

1996 Topps Gallery - Rico Brogna

I remember Brian's birthday party being a rather impressive affair from my seven-year-old perspective. We piled in a pair of minivans to head to the movie theater, with there being multiple copies of Sports Illustrated for Kids inside the van in which I rode, which made the trip all the more enjoyable. After drinking soda that was effectively syrup and watching Uncle Buck, we returned to Brian's house to make our own pizza and play games related to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - which I believe was a federal requirement for boys birthday parties at the time. Brian's parents prepared for each classmate guest bags that were loaded with a great many things, including TMNT action figures that most certainly were not cheap purchases at the time.

As a late-year birthday myself and still of the age in which parties were expected (despite the fact that I actually did not enjoy them), preparations soon began for my own birthday party in late September. Given that my larger parties in Portugal went, um, less than well (there may have been some piñata-related meltdowns), my mom recommended a smaller party and said that I could invite two people from my class. With Brian and his parents having been so generous, it felt only right to return the favor and ask him to attend my party. I was left with a tough choice as to who else should attend. My enjoyment of baseball had greatly grown through my daily conversations with Whitney and Brady, die-hard Red Sox fans who made me care about that team in a positive fashion for basically the only time in my life. I was arguably closest with a trio of girls in the class, - Billie, Heather, and Sara - all of whom remained truly nice people throughout our time together in school. So who came to the party? No, it was not Billie, Brady, Heather, Sara, or Whitney, but, rather, a boy named John Paul. The catch is that, save for maybe a few days, I was not friends with John Paul.

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Our Little League used to - and still does, to some extent - make a big production out of photo day, with parents being able to order a myriad of customized versions of their child's individual pictures. In addition to the various sizes in which the photo could be printed, a la school portraits, one could also get photos on magnets, mock-up magazine covers, and a wealth of other options. After multiple years of no doubt being a nuisance, I was finally able to convince my mom to spring for the personalized baseball cards given that it was my last year in Little League. In addition to our ugly Ridgefield Hardware uniforms and the fact that I am wearing a watch for some reason, the other thing that still stands out to me on that card is the listing for favorite player: Rico Brogna.

Nothing against Brogna, who a capable major league hitter during the 1990s and has Connecticut roots, but I really cannot remember when he was my favorite player aside from whatever day in 1995 I had to fill out the form that was submitted to the photographer. From a logical perspective, I can connect the dots. My favorite player, Mackey Sasser, had seen his professional career come to a close after 14 difficult games earlier in the season. The player who would succeed him as my new longtime favorite, Rusty Greer, would not really hit my radar until the 1996 campaign and my new favorite Met, Edgardo Alfonzo, had barely started his major league career. Brogna, on the other hand, looked like gangbusters prior to the lockout "strike" as a rookie in 1994 (.351/.380/.626, 11 2B, 2 3B, 7 HR in just 138 PA) and seemed poised to break out as a star following a fast start to the 1995 season (.329/.377/.629, 6 2B, 5 HR, 15 RBI in his first 78 PA of the year).

Unfortunately, regression hit, resulting in a merely solid sophomore season and, after being limited to 55 games due to injuries in 1996, Brogna was eventually swapped to the division-rival Phillies for a pair of relievers. While my Mets-related focus turned toward players Alfonzo, Benny Agbayani, Rick Reed, and Brogna's replacement, John Olerud, I did not see much of Brogna's volume-based stint with the Phillies save for their matchups with New York. Despite that, it is his name that will forever be listed on the back of my Little League baseball card.

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John Paul's invite to my birthday party caught my mom by surprise, as she remarked that the only time that I had previously mentioned his name was to note that he had been rude to me. Frankly, I do not know what sparked me to invite him other than the fact that, growing up, I had a tendency to attach very strong meaning to the connections that I made. I do not think that it is accurate to say that I wanted or needed to be liked by everyone, but I did tend to feel and/or hope that every bit of friendliness shown to me was an indication of an exceptionally deep connection. I was trying to be a good friend and assumed that everyone was, too. Whether we had worked on something together in class or had played together at recess, there was some interaction that I had experienced with John Paul that made me consider him to be a great friend when we had previously not gotten along well at all.

Unfortunately, it was the John Paul from my first month at Ridgebury who was the version in attendance at my party. In addition to mocking the size of our house and complaining about the food, John Paul dismissed the fact that he had stained our carpet by noting that the maid would clean up the mess. The "maid" to whom he was referencing was a friend of my mom who was graciously helping out given that minding three young children (including my younger sisters) was a lot to ask of a single parent, let alone five. When I asked John Paul at school why he had said such things, he commented that my mom's friend looked like a maid and did not even clean up the mess that he had made.

From that point on, I did not interact much with John Paul and it was not until partway through third grade in which I noticed that he had moved out of town. Given how many exceptionally nice kids were in my second grade class, I still have regret that I did not invite any number of them to my party that year. In retrospect, this entire experience does not seem to make a lot of sense and is most certainly not all that consequential of an event. However, in the moment, John Paul being one of my best friends made all the sense in the world thanks to a connection that was forged based on something that was likely tenuous and disappeared almost as quickly. Understanding that phenomenon is still something that I strive to do, which is often easier said than done.