Pick-up Baseball

 

Just a lad of about five or six, mom said enough, now go play

I knew of a park two blocks away

I rode my bike, dad had just taught me how to ride without training wheels

Not really a park, it was land carved out under the power lines

Early summer, and there are kids gathering around a makeshift field

Rocky base path worn in the grass, nothing more

A fence that define the edge of the so-called park

Some swings and a monkey bar in the corner that no one paid attention to

A cylinder or two of huge concrete pipe, that judging by graffiti someone cared about

Hey kid, do you want to play baseball?

Sure….

Are you left or right handed?

I don’t know? 

They toss me a ball I try to catch with my left, drop it and throw it back

They said I was right handed, and gave me a glove for my left-hand, which confused me

A bat was tossed, and an older boy and older girl picked up sides

Nervous I waited and was finally picked last and sent to right field

But that didn’t make sense either I was on the left side of the field where they told me to stand

I loved playing, I loved that they figured out how to make up teams, and everyone was welcome, this game of baseball was incredible.

We played there for a few years, as I got older, I eventually was picking teams

I was telling a new kid where to stand in right field

No-one really cared who won, only that we had the joy of playing for hours

I played until I hit a homerun over the fence and clobbered a car one day

It was time to move to a bigger field, wear uniforms and play a game I came to love