Part of our duty as parents is to prepare our offspring for the hardships and vicissitudes of that "big bad world" out there. We want to toughen them up a bit so that a little disappointment or roadblock doesn't completely stymie them.

I received my preparation for life on Oct. 3, 1951. Harry S. Truman was President and the war in Korea was in the headlines. I was standing on the steps of the Townsend Harris building at uptown CCNY listening to a broadcast of the Dodgers-Giants playoff game, on a portable radio. Russ Hodges and Ernie Harwell were the Giant announcers on WMCA (570 on your dial).

A little history of that historic 1951 season. At All Star game time in July, the Brooklyn Dodgers led the National League by 13 1/2 games. Their participation in the World Series (against who else, the NY Yankees) was almost a surety. I was on cloud nine and my 17-year-old life was a joy.

But something happened!

The NY Giants brought up a rookie centerfielder phenom named Willie Mays. After a slow start, Willie and the Giants started chipping away at the huge Dodger lead. They caught the Brooklyns on the last day of the regular season and a three game playoff was scheduled.

The Dodgers, behind Clem Labine, won game two 10-0.

Game three was the rubber game, the decider.

It was played at the old Polo Grounds which was the goofiest baseball field. It was oblong, and it had short fences, extensions and cantilevers from the grandstands.

The Dodgers led 4-2 in the ninth but the Giants had two men on base and Bobby Thompson (the flying Scot) was at bat. Ralph Branca was brought in to pitch for the Dodgers. Thompson lifted a lazy fly to left that caught an extension and as Russ Hodges repeated, "The Giants win the Pennant. The Giants win the Pennant!" etc., I went into shock.

I felt a huge body-block had been applied to my mid-section. I staggered. My head spun. Defeat had been grabbed from the jaws of victory. I was not sure I could ever recover. I was 17 years old. Was my life over? Had the race been run and had I lost forever?

I had to steel myself against the slings and arrows of ridiculing Giant and Yankee fans. It was not easy, but as the years passed the pain eased but never quite completely vanished. Now, 49 years later I can even see the horrible replay on TV after Thompson's blow, and not overreact.

I can still see Eddie Stanky jumping all over Leo Durocher (two former Dodgers) and I can still hear Russ Hodges screaming, but it doesn't hurt anymore. I am enured. I am tempered steel.

In the intervening 49 years, I may even have become a better, stronger person due to that devastating loss on Oct. 3, 1951 at the Polo Grounds in New York City.

Maybe I matured?