THIS
is the field.It's just down the street from my parent's house.
It's where we played baseball.
LOTS of baseball.
My family is rawther obsessed with the game, see.
It's where one of my brothers pulled a total Sandlot/Babe Ruth moment and hit the ball STRAIGHT INTO MY GLOVE. (Or would have, if My Man hadn't jumped in front of me.)
It's where a lotta lotta inside jokes were born.
It's where we went for a standard afternoon's game of catch. I was facing away from my brother. He threw the ball. I wasn't looking. And I had a baseball-shaped bruise on my right butt cheek.
It hurt a lot.
And my brothers still double over laughing every time we bring up the story.
Goodbye, field.
2 comments:
Where did you grow up? I live those playful memories!
It's one thing to say to good bye to something, it's another to know it's probably for the last time. Sorry you're facing so much of that now.
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