The Boys of Summer

On Friday, June 14th, I took my son and my dad to the Harrisonburg Turks' baseball game. It was the first Free Friday event sponsored by the Massanutten Regional Library, so my son's admission was free with his wristband. Also, it was a belated birthday present for my dad. Altogether, it cost me $7...well, with the exception of my son's concessions' purchases of Skittles, popcorn, and a cheeseburger (in that order).

We arrived early to pick a seat because, with my dad, if ya don't get somewhere 30 minutes before an event starts, you're already late. 

At first, we just sat there and looked at an empty field...nothing exciting. Because I had anticipated that he'd get bored, I brought Leo's Nook, and he played it. He did look up now and then, however, to ask an occasional question:

"Mommy, where's the pitcher's plate?"

"You mean the pitcher's mound?"

"No. It isn't called that."

"Yes, it is. It's called a pitcher's mound."

"I don't think so."

"Don't believe me? Ask your granddaddy."

"OK. Granddaddy, where's the pitcher's plate?"

"Where's the what?"

"The pitcher's plate."

"It's a pitcher's mound," he said grumpily, because that's just the way he answers questions, even when he isn't grumpy. "Don't you see that mound out there?" he added, pointing to the field.

Leo tried to follow the invisible line at the end of his granddaddy's finger. "No?" he said a bit reluctantly.

"Leo, look out there where the pitcher stands!" (My dad gets impatient quickly.) "See how it's raised like a little hill?"

Now, he was speaking my son's language. "Oh yeah, yeah, I do." He turned to me. "Mommy, it is a pitcher's mound after all!"

"Why didn't you believe me?"

"I don't know. Because you're a girl, I guess."

"Really. Well, I happen to know a lot more about baseball than you think."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I used to play it."

"Mommy, that's silly. You're funny."

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15500

Because I'm a female English teacher, most people assume that the only thing I know about baseball involves a kid named Casey in a place called Mudville who strikes out. 

Well, they're wrong. I actually played baseball ya know. When I tell people that, they correct me.

"You mean softball, right? You played softball?" they ask, and they look at me like they pity a woman who doesn't know the difference between the boy sport and the girl sport.

The thing is, I do know the difference. I always respond, "Nope. I mean baseball, not softball. I played Little League...when I was younger, like 8."

"Oh, now I see what you mean," they say, thinking they've figured out the riddle. "You played Tee Ball."

"No dammit, I don't mean Tee Ball; I mean little-league baseball, the co-ed kind. I'm from Page County, and dat's the way we roll back derr."

OK, no, I really don't say that. Well, the voice in my head does, at least that part of me that's stayed in Page County, the one that gets really mad when I'm made to feel that, just because I'm a girl, I have no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to sports.

What I really say is, "I played baseball on a co-ed little-league team. Where I grew up, girls were not treated any differently than boys, where baseball's concerned. Silly, huh?" I have to add that little bit of sarcasm at the end. I just can't avoid it altogether. Never can.

Actually, way back when, my boyfriend was the pitcher for one of my team's opposing teams. I'm left-handed and, because he had a hard time pitching when I was up at bat, my coach sent me up a lot when we played them. Why? Because he usually just ended up hitting me with the ball, so that would ensure I got on base. I think it was called taking one for the team. Back in the day, that was acceptable.

Before Friday evening, I hadn't been around baseball for quite a while. I stopped playing when, well, when girls stopped playing baseball. I could've tried softball, but I became the kind of girl most girls become when they realize they're more attractive to the opposite sex when they get involved in girls' "sports," like cheerleading, for example.