One of the most favorite memories that I have of my grandpa, whom I called Pop, is of him walking around the backyard with his small hand-held radio. He loved baseball, and I vividly remember walking around the yard with him as he picked up stray weeds while he listened intently to the game. We lived in the L.A. area, so our favorite team played just a little to the north of us. The radio announcer back in the 1970s had the best voice because he made every play seem incredibly exciting! We'd sit under the shade trees where he'd carefully put down the radio when we needed a rest, and we'd listen to our team as it went up against their rival. Pop was a quiet man, but he would let out an occasional yell whenever he heard good news for our team. I'd follow his lead and we'd both cheer them on from the comfort of our own backyard.
My Pop has been gone now for 13 years and I miss the sounds that I used to hear that came out of that little hand-held radio. There are now different players and different announcers, but I still enjoy turning on a game and listening to it. It makes me feel like Pop is with me again, and for as long as I can listen to that little radio (which was passed down to me) he'll always be there with me.