Last night I saw America.
I saw her on the faces of the young men following their dream of playing pro baseball. Most barely over the age of 18. Maybe away from home for the first time. Eager to join the ranks of Miguel Cabrera, Ricky Henderson, and David Ortiz. And able to reach for those goals in America.
I saw her on the faces of the players here from other countries. The Dominican Republic. Japan. Venezuela. And able to reach for those goals in America.
America was on the faces of the children around me at the Single A ballgame. The toddler who danced to every walk on song and high fived everyone around him. The 5 and 6 year olds sitting in front of me, eating hot dogs and caramel corn. Enjoying the fanfare of a family friendly game and bringing smiles to the faces of the elderly couple sitting next to me.
If you had been with me, you would have heard America in the voice of the young lady singing the National Anthem. You would have seen hats over hearts as everyone joined in.
Does America have scars, bruises, and ugly spots? Of course. But look at her closely. Go to a ballgame. A dance recital. A parade. You’ll see that America is still beautiful.
