¡Fanáticos! Finding hope in baseball lessons after Hurricane María

By Jorge Calderón Rivera

It’s not every day when you and family are featured in a baseball video. But instead of celebrating, this past week has been heartbreaking. My beloved Puerto Rico, mi patria, is suffering enormous devastation in the wake of Hurricane María. For many of us outside of Puerto Rico, there’s a feeling of powerlessness and anguish.

While I now live and work in San Antonio, Texas, my heart is never far away. I grew up in the Fairview section of Cupey, the largest barrio of the capital city of San Juan. My parents, Jorge Sr. and María, moved to a 3-bedroom house when it was apparent my grandmother and great-grandmother required care. It was in this barrio that my sister Grace and my baby brother Gil started our journey. It is in San Juan that my parents and sister still live.

Our barrio was a microcosm of the communities that we still see on our island today — an intersection of low- to moderate-income households with some up-and-coming middle-income families and a sprinkling of mansions.

We all shared one baseball field, a basketball court, a roller-skating rink, a community center and a church. It was in this melting pot of families that our parents raised us with an extraordinary sense of social justice and a love for helping others. I grew up on that ball field, learning how to play under the watchful eye of my father, my first coach.

The baseball field is probably under a foot of water right now. Back then, when it rained, all the water would drain down to the field, and frequently they would have to call off games. In those days, everyone — players, umps, fans — pitched in to get the field ready for play. It was a work of love for many people. Everyone took turns with the rake.

As I got older, I learned that my parents also grew up with lots of love and hope — and limited financial resources. They did not tell tales about how they walked “hungry and barefoot for miles.” No, I learned about their upbringing through their actions and words, especially toward those in need.

My parents modeled and nurtured a deliberate compassion. They taught us responsibility, stewardship, community, faith, loyalty, service to others, humility and love. Throughout, my mother sprinkled a bit of humor along the way. The result is a proactive family that deeply cares about each other and its neighbors. We all share a great passion for life, education, joy and God.

And, lest I forget, since three generations of the Calderóns — my father and his brother, my two sons and I — went to Cooperstown this summer to see Pudge Rodríguez’s induction, a great passion for baseball.

A difficult week

Nonetheless, this week has shaken my faith and weakened my soul. It has been very hard to communicate with my parents, brother and sister. Every time I get through, the fear, anxiety and anguish in their voices give away how hopeless and desperate the situation is for family, friends and fellow boricuas. Their houses are standing, and for the most part intact, but they are starting a second week without electricity and running water.

In order to talk to my sister, every two days she has to drive to an overpass or some elevated site where she can find a signal. I can reach my parents more frequently via their land line, but service is spotty. And it took us five days to hear from relatives living in the rural mountain town of Jayuya, which got walloped by María. Of the group, my brother is the eternal optimist, always quick with the joke, turning to gallows humor to keep things light.

If I could, I would fly to the island and bring my parents to the States. But my father, who built his own business and still manages property, doesn’t want to leave behind his tenants, mainly doctors and medical labs in a building in Caguas, a major town located in the center of the island. And my mother doesn’t want to leave my father, her viejito for 53 years. People are depending on the doctors. And these doctors are depending on him.

My anguish is exponentially amplified by all the hard-working Puerto Ricans whose livelihoods are in danger. Those in the tourism industry who use their hospitality and warmth to take care of guests to the island. Those “highly educated graduates” who farm in the Cordillera Central, the central mountains — the jíbaros or country folk growing our world-famous coffee while feeding us and entertaining us with their lechoneras, or roast pork stands, and chinchorros, roadside bars and establishments that serve pitorro, the local — and now legal — moonshine, frequently with tropical fruit flavorings.

I cry out for my fellow countrymen who work in the fields and enjoy a simple life, yet are joyful, humble and ingenious. My heart aches for the many living in flood waters now, with limited financial resources, without a roof, in complete darkness and likely very hungry, as they feed their family and neighbors first. While my family is blessed in so many ways, we now have so many Puerto Ricans with so little. I pray for those valiant souls in desperate need.

I think the easiest thing to do when confronted with a problematic situation is to get out. How quickly I forget who forged me. Ojos que no ven, corazón que no siente. “What you don’t know, won’t hurt you.” My parents instead committed to each other and their neighbors. The pragmatic “Let’s get you off of the island” idea is not part of our way of life when we face challenges.

Baseball lessons

That old baseball field is a place of many lessons. One from my lifelong coach: When you are down in the count, the bases are loaded and the game is on the line, you “choke up” on that bat, protect the strike zone and avoid any temptation to chase that high fastball.

Simple baseball wisdom. I own home plate — I must be alert and protect it at all costs, maintain focus, and bring the runners home.

Life is fragile and precious. My family is safe and alive, and for that I feel very blessed. I also feel paralyzed without an opportunity to communicate to bring my family hope, love and comfort. It is with my heart and keystrokes that I write these few lines to bring myself comfort and to shout ¡Pa’ lante! “Go forward!” While my heart is broken, my spirit rarely is.

My fellow boricuas are fighters and lovers. The blood of Yüiza, the Taíno female chieftain, still runs through our bodies. Our hearts are made of roots nourished by service and love toward thy neighbor, a belief that a united and indestructible family can conquer all, and an against-all-odds desire for progress we call con ganas. It is this gritty mentality that defines us. A Puerto Rican grit that wins Olympic gold medals and gives birth to world-class artists, battle-tested soldiers, generals, CEOs, scientists, doctors, associate justices of the Supreme Court, Hall of Famers and yours truly.

Despite the current chaos and devastation, we must reflect and be thankful. We must remember and honor those who have fallen by maintaining our civility and humanity, and chastising any selfish actions to the contrary. We must set an example, for our children and the world, of a brighter and optimistic future. Lastly, it is paramount that we provide calm and comfort to our children and elders. Our children’s minds must be nourished to dream of a better Puerto Rico. In the end, the ultimate test of humanity for any society is how it treats its children and its elders.

¡Pa’ lante!

¡Pa’ lante! my fellow Puerto Ricans. We have a rich history, an inheritance from those who have shown character in the face of challenge and adversity. We cannot forget the lessons we’ve learned: the resiliency of our first boricua chieftains, from Agüeybana to Yüiza … the courage of our Hall of Famers, from Roberto Clemente to our beloved Pudge … the grit of our world champions, Sixto Escobar through Miguel Cotto and our pequeña gigante, Monica Puig … the wisdom and audacity of our early leaders, Eugenio María de Hostos, Luis Muñoz Marín and Luis A. Ferrer … the grace, heart, and poise of our universal queens, from Marisol Malaret to Zuleyka Rivera … the humanity of our writers, poets, and artists … the fighting spirit of our military heroes: Román Baldorioty de Castro, Luis Raúl Esteves, the Congressional Gold Medal 65th Regiment, and our Medal of Honor soldiers … the love and respect of our mothers: from the first Mama, mother of my Lord, to my very own Doña Maria, mi querida madre … the sensitivity and respect of our sisters, from poet Julia de Burgos to my very own sister, Grace … the bond and fellowship of our brothers, from Alejo de Arizmendi to my very own brothers, Gil and Juan … and the integrity and respect of our fathers, from Muñoz Marin to my own, Don Jorge.

When you hear ¡Pa’ lante! remember these giants and act like one — we need that. If you find yourself En la brecha, “In the thick of things,” don’t be the poet José de Diego’s lamb, act like de Diego’s bull — ¡Levántate! ¡Revuélvete! ¡Resiste! “Rise! Revolt! Resist!”

We must re-quilt our 100-by-35-mile canvas for the next 500 years, and along the journey cry and scream ¡Pa’ lante!

En la brecha (In the Thick of Things)

If suffering comes unabated,
if weariness weighs down your spirit,
do as the once barren tree: flourish.
And like the planted seed: rise.

Resurge, breathe, shout, walk, fight,
vibrate, glide, thunder, shine forth…
Do as the river rich with new rainwater: grow.
Or like the sea approaching a rocky shore: strike.

Know how to face the angry thrust of storms,
not braying, like a frightened lamb,
but roaring, like a defiant beast.

Rise! Revolt! Resist!
Do as the bull in the face of adversity: charge
with confident power.

— José de Diego

Translation courtesy of Roberto Santiago. Boricuas: Influential Puerto Rican Writings – An Anthology. New York: Ballantine/One World Books, 1995.

Featured Image: Sean Magner / La Vida Baseball