First Things RSS Feed - Walt McDonald https://www.firstthings.com/author/walt-mcdonald en-us Copyright 2025 First Things. All Rights Reserved. ft@firstthings.com (The Editors) ft@firstthings.com (The Editors) Mon, 20 Jan 2025 16:54:27 -0500 https://d2201k5v4hmrsv.cloudfront.net/img/favicon-196.png First Things RSS Feed Image https://www.firstthings.com/rss/author/walt-mcdonald 60 Instant Replay https://www.firstthings.com/article/1999/01/002-instant-replay https://www.firstthings.com/article/1999/01/002-instant-replay Fri, 01 Jan 1999 00:00:00 -0500 Staying home was easy
after the pulling guard
faked me wide
twice before half,
and the tailback cut back
and cleated the grass
I bulldozed with my nose.

I never forgot to hold my breath,
not even the first time
my father tossed me
off the deep end, Sink
or swim, he barked, and I sank
into his will and stayed at home,
a loyal son to my father,

who proved last month
history doesn’t always repeat-
dying, he stiff-armed the tackler
and dashed around end
out of bounds,
up through the stands
and over the distant hills.

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]]> When Rockets Fell Like Stars https://www.firstthings.com/article/1998/08/001-when-rockets-fell-like-stars https://www.firstthings.com/article/1998/08/001-when-rockets-fell-like-stars Sat, 01 Aug 1998 00:00:00 -0400 We prowled that part of the base at midnight,

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]]> Leaving Sixty https://www.firstthings.com/article/1998/04/leaving-sixty https://www.firstthings.com/article/1998/04/leaving-sixty Wed, 01 Apr 1998 00:00:00 -0500 A neighbor’s cat ambled by, wetting our sand

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]]> The Waltz We Were Born For https://www.firstthings.com/article/1998/03/002-the-waltz-we-were-born-for https://www.firstthings.com/article/1998/03/002-the-waltz-we-were-born-for Sun, 01 Mar 1998 00:00:00 -0500 Wind chimes ping and tangle on the patio.

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]]> Catching My Grandson https://www.firstthings.com/article/1997/11/002-catching-my-grandson https://www.firstthings.com/article/1997/11/002-catching-my-grandson Sat, 01 Nov 1997 00:00:00 -0500 Oh, look , old Galileo whispered, look, we move .
And burning, burning in the sky, the sun stood still.
Earth turned and spun and whirled about the ball,
but no one else believed. Not then. Take time ,

my father called, watching our first adopted toddler fall,
push up and waddle to my lap. It goes so fast .
Yeah, yeah, I thought, patting my daughter’s goldilocks,
thumbing her tears away. I loved that chubby cherub

with the grapejuice grin, took turns changing Pampers,
scrubbing that kid in bubble baths, giving time
and horsey rides, a thousand tasks each day before I slept.
I accuse myself, I confess I doubted my old man.

What passes fast, I thought, was time enough to do
what must be done”another flight, reports overdue,
the grass I had to cut. The earth does turn,
no, spins. I crouch now, catching my grandson

firing the ball, the red seams spinning.
He’s older than his mother was that night
my father called, when my knees could duckwalk a mile,
my shoulders and biceps bulged. Ouch , I mutter, now,

a pain each time I lob the baseball back,
my right arm stiff, old shoulder bony,
the hard ball wobbling, plopping in his glove.
And now he burns it hard, curve ball inside

I have to dive for, falling again for physics
faster than reflex, and I’m laughing on the ground,
hugging the ball, my grandson laughing,
staggering off the mound, pounding his glove.

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