Getting People Back Together, Or At Least, Trying

I JOINED THE SENIOR CENTER when I turned sixty, knowing I wasn't likely to fit in. I'm the only Bernie Sanders pantheist socialist in these parts, that I know of, and folks always manage to find out things like that. Sure enough, a lot of 'em didn't, and still don't seem to like me, but the few friends that I have there keep me coming back. They're worth it. Its always worth it. Bean bag baseball is a silly game involving tossing bean bags at a piece of wood with holes in it, and keeping score. Silly that it may be, it brings folks together; buses full of retired people come to our senior center, play a few games, and stay and have lunch. Its worth it. The other day, something went wrong. The other folks, all wearing their team T shirts, loaded up and went back home, and our director chewed us out, crying, calling us rude. I don't play, so I was, and still am, in the dark. All I know is, the Hutchinsons, stalwarts among our senior center group, who used to come every day, haven't been back. Now, they are among those who don't seem to like me much, and I've tried. So far, no go. But they're important to the center. Folks like that are the heart and soul of a place like that, and I am not. Well, like me or not, I want them to come back. The senior center needs people like that. How do I get them back? Would they even listen to me? I don't even know where they live, but I can find out. And what might I say to them that would change their hearts? They're good, solid, country Christian people, and here I am, a smart ass liberal intellectual. I'm obviously not, on paper, the best choice to give it a try. But how should I proceed? Words seldom fail me, but now, it seems, words fail me. Should I walk up to their front door, invite myself in, and get right down to it? Would they even let me come inside? I remember the time Joe Dimaggio walked up to the ticket booth at Yankee Stadium, and the girl behind the desk didn't know who he was. He swore he'd never come back. George Steinbrenner knew he had to do something, so he did. He probably didn't know what he was going to say either, but he knew he was going to try, because he simply had to. Mr. Dimaggio came back. I'm not a billionaire owner of the world's most famous baseball team, but I am a member of a really nice little senior center in a really pleasant small town, and, well, I think its worth an effort. Whether the Hutchinsons come back is beyond my control. All I can do is try. And I may not be the man for the job, maybe it would be better if someone else did it, but I don't seem to see anyone standing in line, volunteering. So, like my hero Davy Crockett once said, I reckon I'll stand up to my rack, fodder or no fodder, and take whatever I get, and may the devil take the hindmost. I think its worth it. I think its always worth it.