Free The Hero Two Doors Down by Sharon Robinson

so,” I said, beaming.
    Jackie’s great performance continued. The fifth inning had us on our feet from start to finish! Dick Whitman got on base with a walk. Jackie hit a ground ball to left field, and Vaughan scored!
    Little Jackie and I jumped up.
    â€œSit down, boys,” Rachel told us as Carl Furillo stepped into the batter’s box. We watched quietly as Furillo grounded out. We were back on our feet when Pee Wee warmed up.
    â€œPee Wee! Pee Wee!” we shouted. Pee Wee’s fly ball sent Jackie to third base.
    A wild pitch by Elmer Riddle gave Jackie the opening he needed. With expert timing and speed, Jackie stole home.
    The fans were on their feet, screaming with joy. It was so loud in the stadium that Jackie Junior covered his ears. Rachel lifted him in her arms.
    â€œHe did it, Jackie,” she told her son. “You and Steve brought Daddy luck.”
    The Dodgers beat the Pirates 6 to 2.
    My whole class and Miss Maliken wrote a letter to Jackie and Rachel to thank them for the tickets. Miss Maliken said she could see the positive influence spending time with Jackie had had on me.
    The baseball game was the best birthday present I could have asked for. But my parents had also gotten me an incredible gift. They had given it to me on my birthday, a few days before the game. It was wrapped in bright silver paper. I tore into it and revealed a Cleveland model kit for the L-17 airplane. I couldn’t believe it!
    On Sunday, June 27, Dad and I went down into the basement to work on our model airplane. “Steve, this L-17 model is a major step up from the kids’ model airplane kits you’re used to,” Dad began. “I’ve watched you closely and feel that your building skills merit this upgrade.”
    â€œAwesome,” I said, studying the photo of a sleek chrome plane on the front of the box. It cost a dollar instead of ten cents like my other models. “How come this kit cost so much?”
    â€œThis model is more complicated to build. We can add a fuel tank and landing gears. It won’t fly, but this is the real deal. We’ll have to work on this one together. It will take time and lots of patience. Are you up for that?”
    â€œYou bet,” I replied. I was used to making model planes all by myself in an afternoon. “How much time do you think it will take?” I asked.
    â€œMost of the summer,” Dad replied.
    â€œJeez . . . that is a long time.”
    Dad and I began to work that same night. We studied the plans and mapped out a strategy to build our plane.
    â€œThey used this type of aircraft during World War Two. It was built for reconnaissance, and to carry both soldiers and light cargo. Our model will look just like the real thing except it’ll be made out of balsa wood.” Dad looked up at the framed cover of a
Sat
urday Evening Post
that hung on the wall over our workbench. It was dated December 9, 1944. The cover picture showed a boy building a model plane, with the headline ALL BOYS WERE EXPECTED TO MAKE MODEL AIRPLANES .
    â€œLet’s start building the basic plane by cutting out the parts printed on this large piece of wood. I’ll cut out the pieces, and you can sand the edges until they’re smooth and the exact shape of their outline. As soon as you were born, I dreamed of this moment,” Dad said.
    â€œWhat moment?” I asked.
    â€œThe moment when you and I would build our first model plane,” Dad explained.
    â€œWhy was it so important?”
    â€œI grew up loving baseball and building model airplanes and couldn’t wait to share those two favorite things with you. It’s a dream come true, son.”
    Tears came to my eyes. We quit talking and finished sanding the last pieces of wood.
    Dad and I worked together on the plane most Sundays. We’d spend hours cutting and sanding pieces. We’d stop briefly for lunch, then get back to work until Mom called us for dinner. Some