I have been recruited to practice throwing and catching with baseball-obsessed First Son. I don’t think I’ve ever worn a baseball mitt before this year, but now I’m out there regularly, and god with a mitt, it is so much easier to catch a ball and I’m getting better at throwing. A baseball is the perfect size for your palm. The mitt is making me feel like I’m The goddamn Natural. (If I missed my calling and I’m secretly a baseball prodigy, can you tell me? Thanks.)
This is a ridiculous conclusion, because among my attributes as a human, being athletic is not on the list. I was on varsity tennis in high school, but that was due to the lack of people going out for the team than any actual true ability. I think I actually placed third place singles, but the girl I beat had been playing longer and wept, so the Coach felt sorry for her and gave her the position, and I ended up playing doubles with a partner who hated me.
Years later, I found out my parents went to speak to the coach because they were worried it was racism. It wasn’t. That coach was just a wack job. Coach was a glamorous lady — sixties, short blonde wave, always with her polo shirt tucked into her shorts. I remember her Jackie O sunglasses and her preoccupation with her/us staying slim. She like to threaten to “black ball” us for the Honor Society if we didn’t acquiesce. My best friend and I complained to a gym teacher who sympathized but said there wasn’t much he could do. Soon, we heard the Coach asked around if the kids who complained were Jewish and Asian (me and BFF, of course).
All of this might sounds serious in writing, but I laugh when I think about these times now, all that long ago drama. I was really so bad at tennis. I would go for shots across the court screaming an elongated “sh******t” and still miss, not realizing that I was cursing out loud and not in my head. I had no sense of discipline or understanding or connection to what I was doing on the court. My cousin Ed who is a musician and very well-coordinated said when he played (he was great at tennis as a kid), he always heard a song in his head to base his game on. (So interesting how different people’s brains work.) I think he drives to a song in his head too. Yeah, me? No rhythm. I just sort of flail and hope the ball is there, which is exactly how I throw and catch with First Son now. He now has a move he calls “The Mom,” which includes spastic gesticulating and weird-sounding noise-making while simultaneously dropping the ball.
So proud.