Read Online Little Brother of War by Gary Robinson - Free Book Online Page B

wet,” he said. “They don’t cancel a stickball game because of rain.”
    That day we played two of the soggiest, sloppiest games anyone could ever imagine. We slipped and slid up and down the field. The carpet of smooth green grass was shredded. By the end of the first game, mud covered every inch of me.
    We had to resort to colored armbands to tell the teams apart. Red for our team. White for theirs. It reminded me of my very first game at the Red Water Community Center.
    Once again the experience was exhausting and exhilarating. I had such a great time. And yet I wanted so badly to be clean and dry.
    At the end of the day, we had won a game and lost a game. That put the weekend results at three games for Oklahoma and two games for us. We’d never played in the rain. All that mud and water was hard to deal with. On the other hand, they played like it happened all the time.
    â€œWe’ll beat ’em next year on our home turf,” Charley promised. “For now, they’ve arranged for us to use the nearby high school locker room showers to get cleaned up. How does that sound?”
    That sounded absolutely great to me. A shower and a sleeping bag were all I needed at that point.
    During the drive home the next day, I had plenty of time to think about events of the past year.
    â€œWe may have lost this tournament,” I told Charley. “But I’ll never forget this experience. Thanks for letting me be a part of it.”
    â€œWhen you’re an old man, you’re going to have some great stories to tell your grandkids,” he said.
    â€œWhoa, that’s too much for my sixteen-year-old mind to think about,” I replied. So I didn’t.

Chapter 12
Supernatural
    Charley dropped me off at my house late Monday night. On the ride back from Oklahoma, I’d heard many tall tales about stickball games of the past. Each one was more unbelievable than the last.
    And Mom and Dad almost couldn’t believe that we’d played in the middle of a thunderstorm. But they believed it when I showed them the muddy rags that were once my uniform.
    â€œRandy, I’m so proud of you,” Dad said. It made me feel good to hear it. What a difference a year had made.
    â€œCome into the kitchen,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
    The three of us went into the kitchen. On the table sat a dusty cardboard box. Written on the side were the words “Gramps’ Things.”
    â€œI found this up in the attic,” Dad explained. “I’d forgotten all about it until yesterday. This was your grandfather’s stuff. It’s been up there since we moved into this house.”
    He opened the top flaps of the box. I looked inside. There was an old photo album, a small box, and something long wrapped in an old piece of leather. Dad took out the photo album and thumbed through it. When he found what he was looking for, he handed the album to me.
    On the left page of the open album there was a faded old photograph. It was a black-and-white picture of a stickball team. A stickball team! Written on the bottom of the photo were the words “Choctaw Fair 1949.”
    â€œWow, this is awesome,” I said.
    On the right page there was a yellowed newspaper article and a list of the names of the players. Dad pointed to one of the men in the photo.
    â€œThat is your great-grandfather,” he said and then pointed to a name on the list. “And over here is his name, R. Jackson Cheska,”he said. “His full name was Randall Jackson Cheska, but everyone called him RJ.”
    I blinked a couple of times. Did I hear him right?
    â€œThat’s right,” Dad said. “We named you and Jack after my grandfather.”
    â€œHow come I never knew that?” I wondered.
    Dad reached into the box one more time and came up with a small box. He handed it to me and I opened it. Inside was a small medallion attached to a ribbon.
    â€œI think