The article reminisces about carefree summers spent playing wiffle ball in a backyard paradise, complete with Kentucky bluegrass and vibrant gardens. As kids, the author and his brother were oblivious to global tensions like the Cold War, focusing instead on their game and surroundings. This innocence is juxtaposed with adult world events, marked subtly by family interactions like the nickname 'Mikhail' reflecting the era's influences. The narrative captures the joy of childhood and the lasting memories formed during those simple yet profound moments in nature.
My brother had fast eyes and fast hands, but he didn't like inside pitches. My strategy decided, I marched back to the imaginary mound, only to trip over the aluminum edging separating turf from soil.
We knew nothing about the adults in Moscow and Washington dragging the Cold War toward its end that year. Besides my dad calling my brother 'Mikhail'... we had no clue that we were Cold War babies.
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