Digital Magazine & Podcast
“Dad, Dad! I caught a ball! I caught a foul ball!” I blurted out when we got back to our section.
I ran back to the bleachers where Mom and Dad were sitting to show him my ball.
“Way to go! Let me see it!” he beamed.
I handed it to him.
He gripped it and rolled it over, examining it, and smiling. Then he handed it back and ruffled my hair.
My insides swelled with prideful cartwheels. It was the first time I’d felt like I had done something Dad was proud of. The only thing that could have been better was if my favorite player, Pete Rose, had hit the ball. He held the record for most career hits at the time, beating out Ty Cobb, Stan Musial, and Hank Aaron. He was something else.
“Batter, batter, batter, batter. Swing!”
“Can’t hit. Can’t hit. Can’t hit.”
I played Little League baseball at age 12 for the First National Bank team coached by my dad. I was...
“You better lock those doors and windows, ya here?” Grandma pleaded with me.
“Wear a cap on the highway, so some stranger won’t try to bump you off the road.”
Until I was married off to Robert, I heard something like this every day from my grandmother. Once I was married, she didn’t worry about me anymore.
To a point anyway.
Grandkids. Wow. They’re like looking at clones of my babies but with a tinge of something else mixed in. Millie has Zoe’s dimples. Jack has Kat’s chin and eyes, and I can’t get over how they all sound alike on the phone.
I always thought we’d eventually divorce because I figured all men were bad husbands and fathers, but I’m so glad we stuck it out and stayed together. Not much is unforgivable, and having a partner to raise amazing children with, someone who will give them every opportunity and every dime in the bank account like I would is all that...
Stay up to date on our podcast episodes, worthy causes we support, and other opportunities.