When we were in AAA, we only hit the ball one time. We remember it vividly – it was a ground ball that went hopping down the third baseline. The shock of the connection that ran from the bat through our arm is still vibrating in our minds. We were so shocked when it happened that we just watched it roll away, rather than running to first base. By the time we came to our senses and began to move (for sure our father was hopping up and down and hollering at us to get a move on – luckily most of our memories are silent) it was too late. We were tagged out at first.See, we were so bad at baseball that we consistently hit the tee rather than the ball in Tee-Ball. We were fast, sure, but we had to bank on pitches thrown out of the strike zone for us to get on base. The only things we liked about the sport were the stirrup pants. Of course, our father forced us to play, so we continued to do so for years (let’s be clear – we’re not mad at dad for making us play sports. We just needed to figure out the ones that we were good at – i.e. ones that did not involve balls).
We were so bad at Little League that we began to try to distract ourselves. Since we were completely uncoordinated, they always put us in center or right field. Out there, among the grass and dandelions (oh the dandelions!) we could pretend we were in a field in the middle of the woods – perhaps in the field from the beginning of “The Sound of Music!” We’d spin around, we’d dance, we’d sing. There are even home videos of those damning, damning experimentations. In those moments, we decided that we’d rather frolic than compete.
Poor dad. Even though he never said anything into the microphone, you can practically hear his thoughts as he zooms in on us way out there, skipping merrily in a circle.
“Damn,” he probably thought. “My son is GAY.”
8 comments:
We recognize that the photo in this post is not of a cute child gay baseball team, but rather of a cute adult gay soccer team. But we feel like "WHY YOU ARE GAY: Saturday Morning Soccer" would have basically been the same post (the orange slices! The knee socks!).
Anyway, soccer players (even fake ones merely dressed up for Halloween) are more fun to look at than baseball players.
OMG, the Fab Five can rest easy: the group has made it on Fagats.
When you came out to me, I thought back to that ground ball, and wondered if I should have known then... but then, I wasn't sure you even knew then, you were like 10.
when i was 12 I had to start playing little league with the 12-14 year olds. Luckily for me I never grew until 15 and was by far the shortest player in both the 9-11 and 12-14 divisions! This made my strike zone extremely small and I was walked all the time....(pegged by the ball a couple of time). Thank god, I would have been pegged by my own team if I was not useful for anything.
I’m a gay father with a 10 year old son that is a total jock. When he is with me, he always wants to go out and play catch. As a kid, I hated being forced to play sports and would rather dance with the dandelions. Now as a dad, I treasure every moment we play catch. Soon, I know, it won’t be cool anymore to play with dad. Meanwhile, I try to mimic the other dads with their jockish gyrations and inane sports talk but I still don’t know the rules of the game.
Damnit Ashley, I was going to ask who the guy on the far right was also.
This is why I don't have a boyfriend... a day late, a baseball/soccer player short.
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