Take me out to the ball game, Take me out with the crowd. Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack. I don’t care if I ever get back…

Nebraska’s fascination with the boys of summer most likely began after Alexander Cartwright’s modernized game gained favor and swept the frontier in the mid-1800s. Omaha’s first organized club assembled in 1867.

In 1869, the Cincinnati Red Stockings stopped in Omaha, pounding the locals, 65 – 1. The Omaha catcher vanished during the 7th inning stretch. His teammates couldn’t find a replacement.

A decade later, the Northwestern League came together, including Davenport, Rockford, Omaha and Dubuque. This lineup formed the first minor league not located on the East Coast.

Around the turn of the century, baseball promoter Guy Green coordinated the formation of the Nebraska Indians baseball team, scouting players from the schools at both Genoa and Santee, as well as the Omaha and Winnebago reservations.

The team fireballed its way across the Cornhusker state, playing local town teams and creating a Wild West ambiance for zealous crowds. This team overcame its initial flash-in-the-pan persona, becoming a top exhibition team.

Nebraska has fielded its share of Hall of Famers, too. Add these names to the scorecard:  Grover Cleveland Alexander, who was born in Elba; Tilden’s favorite son, Richie Ashburn; Omaha native Wade Boggs; “Wahoo Sam” Crawford from – you guessed it – Wahoo;  Bob Gibson, Omaha native;  manager Billy Southworth was born in Harvard; and Arthur “Dazzy” Vance grew up in Hastings.

Currently, Nebraska natives Alex Gordon and Joba Chamberlain make headlines for KC and NY Yankees, respectively.

My dad and I share an appreciation for the game. When I was a kid, we’d travel to Hastings and watch the local American Legion team. Nothing better on a summer evening than watching baseball, eating a cherry Sno-cone and battling a few mosquitoes. (My husband would disagree. He doesn’t understand the allure of the game.)

But the stories about baseball that intrigue me come from my dad when he was a kid. He talks about the town teams from Wausa and Crofton, games against farm team players, some-day major leaguers, where the love of the game reverberated as loudly as the crack of the wooden bat.

These were the games that brought communities together. These were the games that provided entertainment and seemed to connect everyone. Something bigger was at stake during these simpler times, and baseball was the vehicle that united them all.

I remember Wausa’s ballpark on summer Sunday evenings, or sometimes during the week (Wednesdays, maybe?), watching the locals swing and sometimes miss or send a grand slam over the outfield fence.

Even a generation later, a baseball game was a social event, where neighbors and friends congregated to cheer on the neighbors and friends on the field.

When the last batter was called out, we walked back to my grandparents’ house, the glow of field lights filtering above cottonwood trees, slowly fading into darkness.

Baseball is a tradition that’s as American – and Nebraskan – as hot dogs and apple pie.

Superman and Batman battled hardened criminals. “Keen Detective Mysteries” illustrated gripping thrillers. And “The Funny Pages” provoked fits of laughter.

These comic books, now considered part of the Golden Age era, entertained readers during the 1930s and 1940s. By the time my dad turned nine, he liked reading the daily and Sunday newspaper comics. My grandparents believed investing a dime in a comic book was worthwhile.

Dad didn’t want to miss an issue of new comics delivered to Creutz Drug Store in Wausa. Owner Fred Creutz mentioned the store would reserve the comics by writing dad’s name on the new books.  Employees Tryg Hagen and Cecil Coop were responsible for inscribing dad’s name on the covers in the upper left hand corner.

As years passed, dad’s interests in reading material changed, so Grandma Larson packed away the 1,000+ comics. When the family moved across town in 1940, boxes of comics were stored in the barn.

For 35 years, the comics remained hidden in the darkness.

After grandpa passed away in 1973, grandma hired a local handyman to clean out the barn. The worker found the comics , along with old magazines. He asked grandma about them and she sold the boxes for a measly sum. About two years later, he sold the comics for between $50 and $100 dollars at a Sioux City flea market to Joe Triarichi, a comics dealer from Cleveland.

For the next 20 years, Triarichi sold the books that are now known as “the Larson comics,” the third largest comic collection that form one of the most collectible and recognizable pedigree sets in the world.

Through the years, a Connecticut collector named Jon Berk purchased several Larson comics. Berk tried to locate dad, but couldn’t find him.

Then, comic book karma intervened.

In 1993, a fellow collector approached Berk with “All Star Comics I,” claiming it was a Larson. But the book didn’t have the telltale “Lamont” or “Larson” written on it. Luckily, dad had filled out a coupon for a contest but didn’t cut it out. Address: Wausa, Nebraska.

Berk called information, eventually reaching a non-relative, who directed Berk to my 96-year-young grandma, who directed him to dad.

In June 1993, dad received a phone call from Berk proclaiming, “I finally found Lamont Larson.”

Dad’s reply: “I didn’t realize I was lost.”

Dad doesn’t view himself as a collector. His love of reading action/adventure kept him entertained and expanded his love of reading.

In 2005, mom and dad, sister Laurie, daughter Courtney and I attended San Diego ComiCon and met a wonderful group of comic enthusiasts and collectors who are passionate about this collection and its impact on the comic book world.

The following day, a gentleman we’d met at the convention stopped us in the hotel lobby and introduced his daughters, screaming, “This….is Lamont Larson.”

Surreal.

It reminded me of groupies converging on a celebrity, waiting to catch a glimpse, snap a blurred photo, or snag a coveted autograph.

To me, he’s dad.

But in the world of comic books, he’s a rock star.

If Yogi Bear were running around Nebraska during the summer season, he’d undoubtedly be seeking pic-a-nic baskets loaded with appealing delicacies like crispy fried chicken and creamy potato salad.

Picnics – with or without pesky ants or blasted bees – create a compelling connection among those attending one of summer’s favorite pastimes. Picnics traditionally bring communities together to celebrate an accomplishment or gather families to honor traditions and memories.

A picnic may be a dreamy tete-a-tete filled with amorous intentions and spicy aphrodisiacs.

A picnic is more than a meal served outside. It’s a moveable feast, a fête of culinary diversity.

Coined by the French in the late 1600s, ‘picnic’ refers to each individual’s contribution to the meal, kitchen sink excluded.

When I was in elementary school, we spent the last day at the park. Our mothers (well, those who didn’t work outside the home) attended the long line of picnic tables, creating a smorgasbord for this annual potluck party.

It wasn’t about the food, although the food was good. The memorable part of the picnic was spending time with our classmates, being able to run and play outside. The last hurrah before summer vacation officially kicked off.

Those schoolhouse picnics weren’t the only outdoor meals that stand out. I remember backyard barbeques with my parents and sister. Dad grilled steak, mom sliced fresh peaches, and we’d laugh at each other’s jokes and swat mosquitoes from our arms and flies from our plates.

A picnic meant family bonding time, and it seems like my family has enjoyed their fair share.

Last summer, I was looking at family photos and watching films converted to DVD featuring my grandparents, my mom and her siblings, and assorted aunts and uncles. Quite a few photographs show my grandma carrying large plates of food to the picnic table, my great aunts surrounding her, carrying pies or salads.

This group gathered nearly every Sunday after church, breaking bread and relaxing. Some of the photos are at my grandparents’ home; others at the spot we called the boat club near Tilden.

Glancing at those pictures, I realize just how much has changed. Why did those calm Sundays disappear?

Give me a Sunday afternoon where we don’t have to work or shuttle our kids (or grandkids) to soccer or softball. Give me a Sunday afternoon where families still gather to share a meal and actually enjoy spending time with one another.

Of course, some times, a carpet picnic in the air conditioning, away from the buzz of mosquitoes is nice, too. Or how about a good, old-fashioned community gathering or block party where neighbors actually know everyone in the hood and share more than a casual wave of the hand or a hurried hello.

A picnic allows us to unwind, it’s an escape from the harried world. A picnic allows us to converse with family and neighbors, to savor summer. A picnic presents the chance to create special foods for special people.

And, it’s a chance to act like a kid again.

Time for a pop quiz. I know, school’s out for summer, but let’s test your knowledge about something red, something blue, and something with stars and stripes, too.

#1: When is Flag Day?

#2: When did the United States first have a standardized flag?

#3: What are the flag’s two nicknames?

#4: How many pieces of fabric are required to make the American flag?

#5: What do the 13 red and white stripes represent?

#6: What was the first American Flag called?

#7: Which American leader did Betsy Ross teach to make a 5-pointed star?

#8: Who contributed to the design of the first flag?

#9: The first ceremony honoring the Stars and Stripes was held June 14, 1877. What did the celebration honor?

#10: Which states passed a law in 1890 requiring schools to fly the flag daily?

#11: Which city held the first official Flag Day observance?

Are you ready to wave the white flag and surrender? Sometimes, we forget the basic elements of our national history, and a refresher course never hurts! (Answers, in order: June 14, 1912, Stars and Stripes and Old Glory, 64, original 13 colonies, Grand Union, George Washington, Betsy Ross, the centennial of the adoption of the US flag, North Dakota and New Jersey, and Philadelphia.)

Since 9/11, when our country’s patriotism reached fever pitch, American flags fly proudly over schools, government agencies, and all sorts of buildings. Old Glory waves from thousands of homes, a symbol of freedom and liberties our forefathers strived for and our military continues to fight for. And since that day when our peace was disrupted, many Americans consider every day to be a Flag Day.

What is the real reason for the celebration? Credit a Wisconsin school teacher. In 1885, BJ Cigrand developed the idea of celebrating the flag’s birthday on June 14, the anniversary of its official adoption. By the mid 1890s, flags were plentiful and cities hosted festive celebrations honoring the Grand Old Flag.

What does it mean to our country and even to Nebraska residents?

I don’t remember attending any grand parades for the red, white and blue. June 14 would come and go like any other sticky summer day, except my mother would hang the flag from our front porch. Most of our neighbors did, too.

I do remember one Flag Day spent with my grandparents in Wausa. In front of each business, an American flag stood tall and proud. Next to the auditorium, a circular display swayed, creating a sea of patriotic ripples.

Grandma reminded me that my grandfather’s actions during WWI made it possible for our family to enjoy the simple things in life. She stressed loyalty to every thread comprising that flag and explained why that banner deserves daily respect and remembrance.

When you’re 10, you listen, but those wise words may never take root until you’ve experienced life, seen the attempted destruction of our nation’s values.

Now, when you look at that flag, it’s a visual reminder of sacrifice and anticipation of faithful trust in this nation.

Perhaps Carnac the Magnificent would have predicted the growing success of one of Northeast Nebraska’s hottest summer treasures.

Some of you – if over age 25 – may remember the mystic of the East portrayed by Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show. Sidekick Ed McMahon would assure the audience that the envelopes had been enclosed in a mayo jar that had been under Funk and Wagnall’s porch since noon, and absolutely no one knew the contents of the hermetically-sealed packets.

Then Johnny – or Carnac – placed the envelope against his beaded red turban, announced the answer to the impending question, ripped open the envelope, and produced the punch line.

For the fourth year, Carnac’s favored spot in June undoubtedly would be center stage at the Johnny Carson Theater, as Norfolk hosts the Great American Comedy Festival. The festival began as a tribute to hometown hero Carson and his legacy to the comedy world.

Called the King of Late Night, Carson played an instrumental role in the career paths for multiple comedians. This year’s headliner, Louie Anderson, got his big break after appearing on The Tonight Show. While performing his set, Anderson listened for Johnny’s laughter and for him to hit the desk.

Other past festival performers have mentioned another sign of comedic success: being invited to sit in the chair next to Johnny’s famous desk and chat with Carson.

If you haven’t had the opportunity to attend one of the myriad shows available, pencil it in on your calendar. Shows begin next Wednesday, June 15!

Amateur competition heats up Wednesday evening with the winner determined by audience vote.

On Thursday and Friday, 20 professionals vie for a chance to compete in Saturday’s Gala showcase, featuring Anderson and this year’s Johnny Carson Legend Award winner, Cloris Leachman.

On Sunday, the Skit Guys entertain at the family show. The duo combines humor and faith for hilarious results.

If you’re looking for something a little more risqué, check out the late-night sets on Thursday and Friday. The professionals will share different sets with content for a mature audience.

I’ve been fortunate to be a part of the festival’s planning committee and director of the youth camp since its inception. The youth camp remains one of the festival’s quiet commodities and proves anyone can tickle someone’s funny bone. Instructors come from top comedy institutions: The Second City and the San Francisco Comedy College.

Here, students learn more than the art of a joke or the timing for a Saturday Night Live-style skit.  As an observer, I see confidence take root, break through the underlying barrier of shyness and self-doubt, and form into a confident individual who realizes it is okay to laugh and poke fun at your own mishaps.

That’s one of the beauties of humor.

Carson once said, “Talent alone won’t make you a success. Neither will being in the right place at the right time, unless you are ready. The most important question is: “Are you ready?”

Placing envelope to the forehead, Carnac’s answer for the participating comedians: Yes.