Senior League Baseball

Senior League Baseball

Word Count: 503


         We were in the pitch together after 29 years. Last time I flung the ball home, the bat hit Ms Valdez, our PE teacher. She sported a purple eye for the entire week. Of course, the scowl was not unintentional either. That, and a forbidding one eyed glare urging me to find a seat in the deep recesses of team reserves. I had a good reason to hate her and practice my bat swinging in her direction while the ball flew contently home!

         At 45, my arm was still in its prime, or at least I liked to believe so. It had a steady practice by boxing the ears of my four rugrat boys towards practical perfection. And the fact that I am a runner, cannot deny its admirable condition. She knew that we both had shared the love of sport, since the age of fourteen. It’s amazing how aspirations from childhood manifest themselves loud and distinct in adulthood. The game of baseball together after almost three decades made children out of us.

         What is it with nostalgia and pleural phantasm? I must say, we never grow up, rather as grown ups we just learn how to behave in public! A swing with her after all these years gushed forth memories bustling with laughter and growing pains. It was her idea anyway. I am convinced that she looks like a bigger fool pitching a fourth strike than I do with my feeble hits. We still have a blast. The roaring spectators at the Town Stadium buzz in my ears like a long forgotten music. I smile at the next pitch and hit high and far, winking at her. The rest of the team, older than us, scurry towards their bases, eager to prove their point.

         1995 was the year when we were selected to play against 5 schools. We lost, secured second place, and let me tell you, second place is the best. It encourages you to try harder, from pitching to hitting home-runs in real life. That was a turning point for me and her during our formative years. We never got a chance to win again, but we both developed the trait of a fighter.

         She still thinks it is a great idea. Re-visiting the sore game that time never let us forget our defeat. If we had won that match, we would not have gone through 8 agonizing years of med school, just to prove ourselves. We would not have held hard to our marriages in times of despair. We learned to work harder, push harder and move at a steady pace towards our goals. We both had that.

         Above all, at 45, this birthday present from her, a baseball match at the local community center, would not have found us both fit and lithe from years of physical endurance exercises.

Another home run and it would be a tie with the visiting team.
Now isn't that what life is all about? A Happy Birthday to me. Thanks Tera.