Perhaps you read this blog because you play soccer, or
softball, or lacrosse. You might ride horses, or walk on balance beams. Maybe
you are a young woman breaking barriers. You spend your time on the wrestling
mat, the gridiron, or the ice. Maybe you love just love writing or reading
about girls who do.
Whatever the case, I think you will understand the joy I
felt when I came downstairs from my home office last week to find a brand new
baseball glove on my dining table. “What’s this?” I asked even though I knew.
The glove was black leather with pink accents. (Why is it that fitted for women so often means accented
with pink?)
“A new glove for you so you can play catch with us,” my
younger son said. Both the younger and older stood by with wide grins.
The only glove I've called mine was an ancient catchers mitt
from my father. The glove, that I still have, is so old that it has actual
sheep fleece on the inside. It’s still too big for me. My Dad, a busy attorney,
made time to throw and catch with me. I was never very good at either, so I
remember fondly playing alone and throwing the ball up towards the branches of
the 200-year-old oak that stood in our Washington, DC yard. Sometimes I caught
these “fly balls” as they came down. More often than not the ball skittered
across the lawn bumping over acorns so that I’d have to chase it down.
“Put it on,” young son said, pulling me back to the moment.
He showed me how it’s cooler to let your index finger rest on the back of the
glove. I could immediately feel the extra control that came with that, but anxiety
prickled my neck thinking about my wild throws and dropped balls.
“You'll have to teach me how,” I told them.
This winter has been long – too long. Crazy, winter weary,
cabin-fever long. My new glove is spring, and the love of my baseball-obsessed
sons. Next week, the older will start
baseball tryouts for the freshman team at his high school. The junior high starts not long after that.
There will be carpools to practices and games. Maybe a new folding chair for
me but maybe not. Maybe I'll be busy catching fly balls on the edge of the
field with my new glove. Play ball!
***Please note: Anna J. Boll is re-becoming Anna Eleanor Jordan.***
Great post, Anna.
ReplyDeleteAnna, I LOVED this post. It reminds me a lot of Ann Canon. She's a YA/MG writer and also a columnist for Salt Lake Tribune. She wrote about baseball this week, as well. Good luck to your sons on try-outs and the start of their new seasons. I know you'll be catching those fly balls, line drives, and fielding grounders, too.
ReplyDeleteAnd if you want to get rid of that pink edging, sharpies do wonders:)
Enjoy your new glove, Anna! I really enjoyed reading this post. I think you should add it under "your stories" so we can read it all year long.
ReplyDelete