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Salute to A Fan by Cheryl Boswell Under the harsh glare of the stadium lights, the hot humid air prickling my face, I watch my son taking his place on the pitcher's mound. A child scampers by, cotton candy held high like a banner of summer. First batter's up, an expectant hush falls over the crowd. Out of reflex I scan the top of the bleachers, looking for the familiar light-blue jumpsuit, the old baseball cap Dad would always wear to his grandson's games. Turning abruptly from the empty row of seats at the top, I see my son tipping his cap-- an old salute before each game-- to grandpa.

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