The Great American Pastime

I have been meaning to sit down and write for forever. OK, since a couple of weeks ago. But, sadly, I had to hand over my laptop computer to the school principal simply because I was quitting and leaving the school and district - Nazis! :P Then my new school district has the nerve to not give me one of their computers until the week before school starts. Well! I was then all set to leech off my roommate and use her computer, but our internet wasn't working and she had to get a new internet card for her computer. But finally, we got everything working and here I sit at her computer, having snuck into her room while she is gone for a couple of hours. Ha ha! (It kind of takes the excitement out of my sneaking that she said I could use her computer whenever I want to, though).

Sorry about the long explanation. So, now to my topic of the day. Softball. AKA baseball for elementary school kids and women. I play softball once a year. Usually. But two weeks ago, when I stepped out onto the field with my worn and hardly-used mit, I realized it had been two years since I'd graced a ball field, or indeed, even thrown a softball. I was tense and nervous as I contemplated the fool I was likely to make of myself in this competition of 6th graders vs Elementary Faculty. Needless to say, as everyone took their places, I inched into the far outfield where my abilities (or lack thereof) would not be called upon very often.

As I stood there, trying to look ready to catch a ball at any moment and send it flying to first base with lightening speed, I had some time to think. I wondered just when I had learned to play softball. I couldn't pinpoint a specific time. I suppose it must have been my dad who taught me how to play. I have vague memories of hitting a "wiffle ball" with a plastic bat. I remember learning how to not "throw like a girl" in a PE class at BYU. But how to actually play the game.... seems intrinsic to being American, ya know?

I also thought about my former school and all the friends I had there. I thought about how after a few years I knew many of the 6th graders as they came up to bat or tried to strike me out from the pitcher's mound. I remembered the year that I finally made it to first base, after usually getting out on my way there (and no, this is NOT an analogy for my love life!). I remembered the first, and only, time I made it all around the bases and scored a point for the faculty team. I remembered a friend playing catcher and deliberately dropping the ball to give the 6th graders an edge. And the teacher who got out almost every student from first base. The joking and laughing in the outfield. The teacher with her lawn chair, umbrella, and drink set up in right field, and me practicing for a few weeks before the "big game" with my 4th graders.... I missed the comraderie and the friendships I had built there over the years.

But sports can be very bonding. So, on the last day of school of this school year, I found myself joking around with teachers I hadn't talked to the entire time I'd been at this school. I wished that the softball game came at the beginning of the year, not on the last day of school when I was saying goodbye to virtual strangers that I had worked with for 8 months. Maybe I would have made more friends.

So, nothing great and heroic for me. I almost caught one ball, chased it a little, and threw it to the pitcher. And I batted once - 2 strikes, then a punt that got me out on first. My first graders enjoyed cheering for the 6th graders when I was standing right in front of them (traitors!). But, you know, I had a lot of fun. I think maybe I ought to play softball a little more often.