In the spring of 1958 the Dodgers, after decades of operation in Brooklyn, roared into Los Angles. They played at the Coliseum and later at Dodger Stadium, the games carried every night on KFI radio, with Vin Scully and Jerry Doggett describing the action for thousands who brought "transistors."

Home games weren't televised then; in those first years, only the games from San Francisco against the Giants, the Dodgers' fellow New York transplants and longtime bitter rivals, were broadcast on KTTV (Channel 11). For us kids, these were treasured opportunities to watch (rather than listen to) Maury Wills perform his base-running magic, or Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale do battle with Willie Mays and Willie McCovey, or the power-challenged Dodger offense struggle to solve Juan Marichal, from the windblown, bayside horror that was Candlestick Park.

More often than not, it seemed, these were weekend series. And that made Friday night Dodgers games --- for my family --- very special L.A. events. Because, I should tell you, this is not really a story about the Dodgers.

On Friday night the game started at 7:30. Mom and Pop always had ready two quarts of Hires Root Beer ("made the old-fashioned way," said the ads, "with real roots, barks and herbs"), together with a quart of hand-packed vanilla ice cream. The white cardboard cylindrical container told us it came from the corner Frosty Freeze.

We took our accustomed places: Mom in an armchair reading the newspaper, Pop on the couch crocheting; we kids sitting or sprawling on the floor on big pillows before our 17-inch black-and-white TV set. No matter the flow of the game, at the end of the fourth or fifth inning, we'd help Mom fix our snack. The rest of the game was watched over root beer floats and bowls of popcorn.

Did you notice that neither of my parents paid much attention to the game?

My father, a passionate genealogist, knew more about American history than the Durants. He watched baseball on TV for 35 years knowing little more than tallying balls and strikes, and how runs are scored. His favorite part was when manager Walt Alston, and later Tommy Lasorda, stormed onto the field for a lively argument with the umpire. Knowing it was an exercise in futility, Papa always appreciated the showmanship.

Our family's closest personal link to baseball was our Grandpa Leon, who actually played pro ball in the 1910s for a Nebraska pickup team. Mom saved photos of him in uniform. Beyond that she had no other interest in baseball. But she'd share occasional smiles with Papa as we kids yelled at the screen when a close play went against the Dodgers, then argue among ourselves as we dissected it.

Now, I've shared this Wright family reminiscence realizing that homemade black cows and popcorn popped on the stove in an aluminum pot are hardly haute cuisine --- but it is liturgy.

In these days of personal pan pizzas, Chinese-to-go, three-for-a-buck taco nights, two-for-two double-cheeseburger specials and (ugh!) microwave popcorn, the sacramental touch of traditions, the liturgies that hold families together, is all too often lacking.

Husbands and wives can too often be caught up with latter-day notions of "personal fulfillment" and overlook the sacraments of love that are their children. We parents build firm foundations as "family" with our liturgies, the rituals that make us a family.

Through the Sacrament of Orders, priests offer the Divine Son to the Divine Father through the power of the Divine Spirit. In this is renewed the Sacrifice of Calvary so that Jesus in the Holy Eucharist, the Sacrament of Love, may remain with us throughout all generations.

But where are these generations without the priesthood of parenthood?

Parents are ordained into this priesthood through the Sacrament of Matrimony, offering their lives to God for their children, thus renewing humanity. Making unconditional love available to their children, parents reflect the unconditional love of God.

The memory of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus at the heart of the Liturgy of the Mass is our link to the family of Catholic Christians. In the liturgy of family, parents and children are all priests. Their rituals cement the family together.

The Church lives by the Divine Liturgy. Families live by their own liturgies, the ordinary rituals of meals, school and housework, broken up by special liturgies of games, travel and fun, the way Solemn High Mass should break up the routine of ordinary Sunday liturgies.

Parents, don't miss out on making your own family liturgies. I promise, I would not trade a single moment of one of those very special Friday evening liturgies, watching the Dodgers on our black-and-white Sears Silverstone TV, for all the liquid plasma on earth.

Sean M. Wright, a member of Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church in Santa Clarita, provides workshops and formation classes on Catholic symbolic art, the Gospels as history, and finding the Holy Eucharist in Scripture. He answers comments sent him at Locksley69@aol.com.