I grew up playing baseball. Even though my father was largely absent, I played. My mother took me to games and cheered me on. She brought orange slices and yelled, “Way to go, bubba! A walk is as good as a hit!”
She was right. It is. What she didn’t tell me is that I should have been mocked for standing at 2nd base with a softball glove on my hand.
Sure. My coaches would occasionally say things like, “do you think that glove will get trapped under you if you dive?” or “is that the only glove you have?”
I thought they were asking me if I needed a new glove because mine was rather worn. Turns out they were asking me because I was wearing a fucking softball glove.
“Chaps. How did this all come about?”
Well, my daughter started playing tee ball recently. We went to the store and picked out all of her stuff. We got a new bat, a bucket of balls, a tee, the ball with a string on it so she didnt have to chase it after every hit, a helmet, and a bat bag. It was very exciting. We also picked out a new pair of cleats to wear. She loves the fucking cleats so much that she cried when I wouldn’t let her wear them to kindergarten. Rules are rules. Tradition is tradition.
“We only wear our cleats at the ballfield, honey. When your eyes see clay, it’s time to play.”
Well, we’ve been playing catch nearly every day and she asked why I didnt have a glove. I didnt have the heart to tell her it’s because she’s throwing cans of corn back to me so I said, “I dont have one.”
“Order one with Amazon Prime and it’ll be here in two days, papa” she said with her bizarre Polish accent. I have no idea where she picked up an Eastern European accent but she’s seeing a therapist about it.
Anyway, I ordered 3 gloves at the same time because I wasnt sure which one would feel the best. I hopped on Amazon and searched, “adult baseball glove.”
The usual suspects showed up so I picked the ones with 4.7 stars.
Next thing I know, they arrive and I hollered upstairs to my growing baby girl and said, “it’s here, little one. Grab your glove.”
I opened the box and looked at the glove like a baby who’s realizing that she’s feeding on the wrong woman’s breast.
“This isnt right,” I say aloud in my empty kitchen which features granite countertops and a lovely subway-style backsplash.
“This is too small. Did I order a child’s glove? No. No I didnt…. somethings fucky.”
I returned the gloves to Amazon and went down to my local Sporting Goods store this morning. When I got to the baseball aisle and looked around, I nearly fainted.
I saw the type of glove that I was looking for. It was the type of glove that reminded me of my childhood. It was a softball glove and it was only 34.99.
It fits great, everyone. I cant wait to have hours of fun playing catch with my daughter while lamenting the fact that my father never played catch with me. If he had, I wouldn’t have needed to prove my toughness by joining the Marine Corps or purchasing 3 baseball gloves that were entirely too small for my liking.
I’m thankful for Amazon and their 30 day return policy and the fact that my daughter has a mother and father who will select the right equipment for whichever sport she plays. Fuck you, dad. Enjoy your cigarettes in the nursing home.