Wednesday, April 25, 2012
in the thick of it
Throw the ball. Catch the ball. Throw the ball again.
He was birthed into baseball. I laid in bed. I walked around. I labored in a tub to the sound of baseball.
He shares a name with one of the greats.
He keeps score of the games on TV and the ones he plays in his mind.
He shares a fantasy team with his dad. He yells at his players when they don't do well and cheers when they do.
It is in his blood.
"Mom, don't throw that away I can make something out of it." She says.
"Mom, I'm going to be an artist one day." She says.
"Yes, yes you are." I say.
It's in her blood.
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