Play
Ball!
Late
summer, driving by the new little-league diamond, I couldn't
help but think of my mom. When did she develop a love for
baseball? I remember vague snippets of my childhood: the
Big Island, my mother and her sisters playing "mountain
ball," the equivalent of slow-pitch softball, all three
of them with jeans rolled up to their knees, kicking up
the dirt while running around the bases. Growing up in Hawaii,
she told me, she used to listen to the New York Giants play
ball on the radio. Since moving to the Bay Area in the early
'60's, she's now closer to her favorite team. As my dad
didn't have an interest in baseball, my love for the game,
discovered in the fourth grade, must have come through her.
Once I found out how much fun it was to hit the ball as
hard and as far as I could, a bat and mitt competed with
my violin lessons. I played to both rhythms. The state of
my dresses as recess, however, was never the same.
late
afternoon
a breeze sweeps
home plate |
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