Why Griffey's return brings out the kid in this fan

If a single image sums up my childhood, it would be a beaming Ken Griffey Jr. at the bottom of a pile of elated teammates.

That's what I saw from the Kingdome bleachers when the Mariners beat the Yankees in the 1995 playoffs, and that's what I remember most about being a kid.

For a 9-year-old, witnessing that was like winning the lottery. For days it was all I talked about. I made sure everyone knew I was there and that my favorite player, Ken Griffey Jr., had scored the winning run.

Griffey was always more than a baseball player to me; he was my hero. With his backward hat and perpetual swagger, he was the definition of cool. He was an idol to a generation of young fans. We all wanted to be just like Junior.

At recess at St. Anne's School, the Griffey in all of us would come out. We emulated all his moves: the elevated back elbow, the uppercut swing, and the way he occasionally paused to admire a home run. We were a bunch of kids pretending to be "The Kid."

I worshipped Griffey. One of my prized possessions growing up was a fake gold chain with an emblem bearing his number, 24. It was cheap plastic, but that chain was sacred to me.

I remember gripping that chain during the Mariners' one-game playoff with the Angels in 1995. My teacher let our fifth-grade class watch the game during school. My classmates and I huddled around a television and whenever Griffey came up to bat, we all moved in a little closer.

Years later, I realize that part of Griffey's mystique was his complexity. He played center field with grace and recklessness. He hit upper-deck home runs with such an effortless swing. He was larger than life. Yet at the same time, he was just a kid, like me.

I was devastated when he left for Cincinnati, but I wasn't mad at him. How could I have been? He was, like all heroes, infallible. My friends and I still rooted for him, just from a distance. We talked about how if he could stay healthy, he would break the all-time record for home runs.

When Griffey returned to Safeco Field with the Reds in 2007, I was there with three friends. I bought my ticket on eBay and spent more money than a college student could afford, but I didn't care. There was no way I was missing that game. From our center-field seats we watched the tribute to Griffey and remembered how much we all loved him. We kept our eyes on the field so no one would notice the tears in each others' eyes.

I watched opening day last year at some friends' house. Next to their television was a wall of Griffey posters, including some of him in a Reds uniform. He was still ours, even though he wasn't a Mariner.

Now he's a Mariner again, and I think that means the most to fans my age. His return is not just a reunion, but a reminder of my childhood.

We're both older now. I'm 22, out of college, looking for a job. Griffey is 39, his swing's a little slower, and injuries have ruined any chance to set baseball records.

Still, I see Griffey in a Mariners uniform with that unmistakable smile and it feels like we're both kids again.