Playing Catch
Sweetie and I have officially booked the rehearsal dinner at the Aquasox game. We may be more excited about the rehearsal dinner than we are about the ceremony or the reception right now. And the person we're working with at the Aquasox is equally excited. There will be lots of perks and surprises thrown in, and one of the perks is that I get to throw out the first pitch of the game. (Sweetie may also get to throw out a first pitch, that is still under negotiation).
So now I have 8 months and 7 days to prepare myself to thorow a baseball 60 feet and six inches. I'm not going to promise a strike, but I also don't want it bouncing in the dirt.
When I was around 9 or 10 I was on a local youth softball team. We were sponsored by the House of Turquoise, and our uniforms consisted of turquoise jerseys and caps with HOT emblazened across them in magenta letters. We didn't get the pants as part of our uniforms at that level, just the jerseys and the caps. This was back in the early 1980s when short shorts were all the rage, and for some reason the jerseys were oversized. So somehwere (in a closet at my parents house) are photos of a nine year old me apparently wearing no pants in an oversized shirt that says HOT across the front of it. Creepy. But we went on to win our league that year, so who knows.
I was not the most athletic of kids, but I earnestly wanted to do well. I spent most of the season either on third base our out in right field. Every evening my dad and I would spend out on the street in front of our house. Either he'd hit me pop-ups to field or we'd play catch, so I'd be ready to field the long fly ball, or able to catch the ball at third base and make the play at first.
For all I know I remember I was the worst kid on the team. Sitting out in right field making clover chains, and being moved into third so they could keep a closer eye on me and put me at a base that didn't see a lot of action during the game. For all I know the kids I played with are writing their own blog entries right now about that kid who couldn't play softball that they had to carry to win the title. But I sure did practice my heart out that season.
The games of catch are going to have to resume, in order to be prepared for the big day. There's a park near our place that I'll drag Sweetie to once the weather gets a bit nicer, so I don't embarass him by throwing like a girl on that day.
At first I was a little sad that I wouldn't get to do this practice with my dad, remembering with such fondness those days of my youth. But now I see it more as an opportunity for both the Sweetie and I. He'll prepare me while I prepare him. Becaue maybe one day we'll have a daughter of our own, and she'll be on her softball team, and she'll go out and play catch with her dad to help her prepare for the game. But I pray to God if that happens that she gets better uniforms than her Mom had.
So now I have 8 months and 7 days to prepare myself to thorow a baseball 60 feet and six inches. I'm not going to promise a strike, but I also don't want it bouncing in the dirt.
When I was around 9 or 10 I was on a local youth softball team. We were sponsored by the House of Turquoise, and our uniforms consisted of turquoise jerseys and caps with HOT emblazened across them in magenta letters. We didn't get the pants as part of our uniforms at that level, just the jerseys and the caps. This was back in the early 1980s when short shorts were all the rage, and for some reason the jerseys were oversized. So somehwere (in a closet at my parents house) are photos of a nine year old me apparently wearing no pants in an oversized shirt that says HOT across the front of it. Creepy. But we went on to win our league that year, so who knows.
I was not the most athletic of kids, but I earnestly wanted to do well. I spent most of the season either on third base our out in right field. Every evening my dad and I would spend out on the street in front of our house. Either he'd hit me pop-ups to field or we'd play catch, so I'd be ready to field the long fly ball, or able to catch the ball at third base and make the play at first.
For all I know I remember I was the worst kid on the team. Sitting out in right field making clover chains, and being moved into third so they could keep a closer eye on me and put me at a base that didn't see a lot of action during the game. For all I know the kids I played with are writing their own blog entries right now about that kid who couldn't play softball that they had to carry to win the title. But I sure did practice my heart out that season.
The games of catch are going to have to resume, in order to be prepared for the big day. There's a park near our place that I'll drag Sweetie to once the weather gets a bit nicer, so I don't embarass him by throwing like a girl on that day.
At first I was a little sad that I wouldn't get to do this practice with my dad, remembering with such fondness those days of my youth. But now I see it more as an opportunity for both the Sweetie and I. He'll prepare me while I prepare him. Becaue maybe one day we'll have a daughter of our own, and she'll be on her softball team, and she'll go out and play catch with her dad to help her prepare for the game. But I pray to God if that happens that she gets better uniforms than her Mom had.
posted by Swankette at 10:03 PM
2 Comments:
You're sweet.
I'm afraid the genetic material we'd both be lending does not make for a college sports star. Or high school. Or elementary school. Well, maybe elementary school. I was a YMCA basketball leading scorer through 6th grade.
But I'll go have a catch with you anytime. Do you own a glove?
Did I SAY anything about college sports star? If I could be on a championship softball team in grade school and YOU could be on a championship basketball team in grade school, then I have every hope that our children could manage to be on a grade school team. With the expectation that once they make it to high school they join the debate team, just like mom and dad did.
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