I never wanted my son to play baseball. When he asked me if he could sign up for Little League, a wave of emotions flooded my mind as I remembered my days on the baseball field.
I was introduced to baseball in my third grade P.E. class. When we first began playing, I was one of the first kids picked because I was fast. My team was in the outfield first, and my teacher told me to play second base. I grabbed a glove and trotted to the base. As balls came my way, I snagged them with the precision of a pro. Nothing got past me. However, my euphoria waned when it was our turn to bat.
My first time at the plate was a disaster. Three pitches. Three strikes. Over the course of the game, I struck out every time. My classmates were forgiving because of my great defensive play. However, their generosity didn’t last. As the school year progressed, my strike-outs accumulated. Soon, I became the last kid picked.
I remember breaking into tears after one of my poor showings at the plate. Some of friends tried to comfort me, but that experience soured me on baseball forever…Read the rest of the post on my blog at Goldfish Smiles.