On a Little League Baseball Field

On a little league baseball field, I make my peace.

Thirty years ago, a softball smashed into my face, leaving me front-toothless. I wasn’t even playing — I was on the sidelines warming up.

The coach said to move the glove in front of me when catching the ball. So I did. But the ball missed the glove.

I had the right idea all along: I moved the hell out of the way when a ball was coming at me. Made sense to me.

I had no business playing sports. I also had no business listening to this coach. I knew what was best.

So, now, on my morning walks, I sometimes wander around this empty field. Fake sliding into home.The crowd goes wild! Overrunning first base. Safe! Smacking the imaginary ball. It’s a high, fly ball, deep to Center Field . . . Soaking my shoes in the outfield while making the improbable catch. Out!

Then crunching the raked dirt under my feet before I head out on my way.

Home plate
On a little league baseball field

Might you consider adding some small things to your day?

And please, say some things!

Say some things.