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blueshoefarm at gmail dot com.... and that would be how to reach me

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Kids - baseball, Part I

We have been walloped with one heckuva computer virus of late. Or multiple viruses as the case may be. Norton did not catch them, Kaspersky caught them but could do nothing about them since they went through the system and disabled it's ability to stop them, and now I have Mcafee. Let's pray that this works. And, without the prayers, we can go directly to the computer guys who clean it all off of my system.
Here is a baseball story. Wilder started tossing a baseball with his dad. Then there was some batting action going on. So I took him to Fred Meyer to get a real bat for an early birthday present. If you are not a baseball person, you need to imagine a wall of bats, all different colors, lengths, weights. How on earth to pick one? How about a mitt? Do they do different things? And at his age... 9, and a way beginner, is he a softball fella or a baseball fella? I had no idea. So on the bat we went for color. I was pretty sure this was not the best way to do it, so when the only other people showed up on the aisle, I promptly asked them. The older fellow had a knit cap pulled low on his head, low shorts, oversize in most of the things he was wearing. The other fella looked wiry and smaller, younger, rougher, edgy. I held up the baseball and softball and asked them, "does he play (gesturing at Wilder) baseball or softball at his age?"
The larger of the two looked at Wilder, asked him his age, his weight in a barky kinda voice. My son being who he is, stood up straight and answered to the best of his ability. (I must be a bad ma since I have no idea how tall either of my kids are, and how much they weigh, I can barely remember their birthweight, and their birth length... HA. But then I still think I am in my thirties....Double HA) They confered between each other, and said 'baseball'. I thanked 'em and we moved on toward the cashier. The older one came around the corner and said "Is that the bat he is playing with?" Gesturing toward the snappy colored bat we had picked out. We said yes, he said no. We went back to the aisle, where the two of them got serious in picking out Wilder the right size bat. They absolutely rocked. Ryley went out with his new bat, his baseball ready to roll. The older fellow asked him what team he was on, we said none, since it was too late to get him signed up. We thanked the two baseball guys and left.
After paying and walking out the door, in the firezone illegally parked was a black SUV with tricked-out wheels and spinners. Standing next to it's open door was the older baseball guy, talking on his cell. He saw us, put his call on hold, and walked over. "You know, it is not too late to sign up for the North Perry coach pitch team, and it would be great to get him started in" Turns out this fellow was a coach. Well, that was all we needed. Even though we have scads of fields around our house, we drive two towns away to play on the North Perry team. Wonderful coach, great team. All because of a random question asked. You never know who you may strike up a conversation with.

1 comment:

Mae said...

I am thinking that the last two sentances in this post cause Rose unmitigated humiliation.

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