My dear wife, Carrie, and I got home yesterday after the most lengthy vacation we have ever known. It was a great deal of fun.  We saw many interesting places, saw very friendly faces, and found a way to park our car into some very small spaces.  That’s what happens I suppose when you visit the Northeast.  In the big cities parking a car can take more planning than what you intend to do the rest of the day.  We were fortunate to take a train to New York City’s Grand Central Station…the place that inspired ants to build their transportation underground.

We were also fortunate enough to visit some dear friends during our travels.  Bob and Michelle live in New Hampshire in a nice quiet neighborhood settled in a peaceful town.  They have three children.  Davis will be a sophomore in high school.  Sabra and Siera will be heading to the all important 5th grade come next school year.  We visited their schools while we were there.  Give it to the Northeast; education is stressed.

Our time spent with our dear friends was memorable.  We laughed and shared stories.  Some good.  Some great.  This was a very relaxing time for Carrie and me.  It always helps to visit folks you feel comfortable around.  That was the case and more in New Hampshire.

I’d be remiss if I did not mention one of the greatest things about the Northeast is the ability to find newspapers…more than you’d read in one day.  I had a blast taking in The Boston Globe, The Daily News, The New York Post, The Boston Herald, New Hampshire Union-Leader, The Concord Monitor…all on one news stand in a grocery store!  Wow.  I left out The New York Times on purpose, by the way.

Through it all: the good fellowship, the laughter, the good food, and the fun…there is one night from this trip that I will always remember.

God Bless Him!  Bob took me to Fenway Park to watch the Boston Red Sox play the Chicago Cubs.  It was a surreal experience.

I have been to my share of events.  I saw Billy Graham in Louisville.  I have seen 64 of the 128  major college football teams in this land play the game in person.  I have been fortunate enough to see Paul McCartney sing four times.  I have seen all but one of the National League Baseball teams play and I have been to two…make that three American League stadiums too.  And don’t ask me how many times I have seen The Moody Blues…that is another column.

Bob took me to FENWAY PARK…the oldest ballpark in the country, having served as the home of the Red Sox since 1912.

I don’t mind a little nostalgia.  The right song will put me back to where I heard it.  I was in a pipe organ shop recently and I  swear I could smell my grandfather’s old shop and tools he used and the ones he looked at.

Fenway Park is full of nostalgia for me.  And what is perfect is that I did not have to drive to the ball park.  I drive ALL the time.  On this night, however, Bob drove.  We were in his neck of the woods.  I got to play curious, excited, child-like passenger.  I was all of those.

As we made our way to our seats along the first base line, I was staring out at the famed left-field wall, The Green Monster, they call it, given its enormous height.  All I could think about was Carlton Fisk’s home run in the 1975 World Series against the Cincinnati Reds (my team) that occurred in the 12th inning of  Game Six.  He hit a towering shot down the left-field line; the ball looked like it might be foul…Fisk waved his arms as he made his way down the first base line begging the ball to stay fair.  It did.  Home Run.  I looked down at the very space that, to me, is the most special moment in the history of a great game.

As the game went on, I nervously texted my dear Carrie to tell her what I was feeling and seeing.  Fisk all over again.

An inning later, beyond my wildest dreams, on the video board in right-center field, they showed footage of the Game Six Homer by Carlton Fisk.  Then they showed him waving at a live camera, as hew was in attendance.  I was one goose-bump.

Thanks to Bob, for taking me out to the ball game.

Danny Johnson

I could barely keep my camera still.

Good question…

Hopefully a good answer.

I like the sound of it.  It sounds true.  Truth is a very good thing.  The truth will set you free from the bondage of untruth.  That does sound good.

I tell many folks I don’t believe in fairness.  It is the stuff of mythology.  I gave a eulogy at a friend’s funeral in May of this year.  I looked at his grown son and I said what I had to: life is not fair.

While I do not believe in fairness I do believe in good and bad.  I do believe in wrong and right.  When we speak wrongly we have screwed up.  We all do it.

It just feels good to speak the rights.

Hopefully no one out there will mistaken the connotation of “rights” with political overtures. That would be to err.  Just like we are not talking about “rights” as a notion of…gulp…fairness.  That would be a painful mistake.

Speak the rights really took on a life of its own when I was broadcasting high school football games.  My buddy Gus Stephenson and I had a grand time for a while relaying the plaudits of the athletic endeavors of teenage heroes on the gridiron.  We enjoyed doing so for a number of years until it was time to move on.  When I would agree with Gus at times, I would steal a line from a Shakespearean play where the character says to another: “Thou speak’st aright”.

I would say to Gus in agreement of his explanation to what happened on the following play: “You speak the rights, Gus”.  It became a part of the lexicon of many around me.  I just figured it must be time to share.

A number of years ago I wrote a weekly human interest column for a fledgling and now defunct local newspaper.  I was flattered by the offer to share on a regular basis.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  I got a kick outta folks agreeing with what I said.  I enjoyed it much more when I made someone laugh.  I did not enjoy getting chewed out by my mother for using the word “hell” in a column.  I’ll try not to do that again.

I will, however, within the confines of this space…quite oxymoronic in the year 2014.  Does anyone else out there still want to date a document starting with 19…?  I am guilty, on occasion.

Let me thank my dear wife Carrie for putting me behind each letter I type here today.  She reminded me that…and convinced me that…all the column writing I did needed a comeback.  She was right when she told me folks enjoyed what I wrote about.  I just hope that will find a way to continue as I write some more.

I will write about friendship, sports, love, faith, music, time, work, movies, travel, family, history, heartache, politics, movies, schools, and whatever else may present itself that day.

Regardless…and sometimes it may hurt a little…I will speak the rights.

Danny Johnson