Remembering Kirby

I'm rarely one to feel any sadness over the death of a professional athlete, but the news about Kirby Puckett sank my spirits like no one before him. He was more to me than just another player who excelled in a given sport. His smile, personality and friendliness were infectious - and couldn't help but draw the attention of kids like me in Minnesota. He was the identity of the Twins, the reason I'd urge my father to go to the ballpark and buy a ticket. The shock of yesterday was so sudden and unexpected; his memories in my youth still so fresh. Even right now, I can hear "Kirbeeee Puckett" across the loudspeakers at the home games or imagine seeing him step into the batter's box, crossing his body in prayer right before the pitch. He's responsible for some of the brightest memories of my childhood. It's a faint memory, but I remember standing next to my mother in 1987 and watching him wave to fans in the celebration parade after the 1987 world series. In 1991, I remember jumping up and down and screaming at the top of my lungs with my father after his 11th inning game-winning home run Game 6 sailed into the seats below. When he officially retired and said goodbye to fans, I struggled to hold back tears from the stands. In junior high, I got to shake Kirby's hand once while I unexpectedly crossed paths with him at a local produce store in Chisago City, Minn. He was as honorable as ever, my body and hand shook in awe like I was meeting a saint. I was much too overwhelmed to say anything to him. He's the kind of player you hope lives forever, one who you can tell your kids about someday. I hope I never forget what he gave to me.