The baseball glove I received when I was four. My father
presented it to me on my fourth birthday, in front
of my relatives, smiles tugging in the corners
of their mouths. A big baseball glove, the dark color of brown, matching
with my chocolate cake. Dried mud blanketing its palm, tied laces
in small knots adorned it. The strong scent of leather dispersing within the air.
I put it on. It fell on my small hand.
Twenty years ago, grandfather brought my father to Jamsil Stadium
for the first time, blaring sounds of music echoing across the stands.
Stacks of hats and accessories dangled from the glass windows
of the stores, while the smell of fried chicken wafted in. Beer vendors
shouting on top of the crowds, fans hurriedly ran to get to their seats
before the game. That was when a brown glove caught father’s eye.
I think history is a river, endlessly flowing and dissipating beyond landscapes.
Junwoo (William) Park is a Korean 13-year-old, 9th grader currently attending International School Manila in the Philippines. His work has been recognized by journals such as Cathartic Literary Magazine, One Art Poetry, etc. Aside from creative writing, he frequently enjoys playing football with his friends, solving math problems, and likes to read.