Baseball With My Grandfather

My grandfather and I always played baseball together when I was growing up. I never really had much fun:

"That's not a pitch. You call that a pitch? Hold my cane while I throw it. Come here and hold it. Let me lean on you."

"When I was your age I walked really slowly out of respect. The last thing I wanted was to disrespect my elders by running faster than they could walk."

"I want you to toss the ball here so I can hit it with this bat. No I want you to toss it slow. No—that's not slow enough. Here. Hold it in your hand."

"Instead of using a bat, I want you to swing at the ball with your hands. This is how we used to play when we were poor. Are you ready? Give the bat to me."

"My legs are so old. Perhaps I will sit for twenty minutes while you practice swinging your hands."

"What do you mean I'm out? I'm a veteran. I killed men for this country. You hear me? Okay just let me walk to home base. Hold my arm."

"If I didn't have this cane I would be able to walk like a normal person. Do you know what this feels like? To be less than a man? Now throw the ball into the field, as if I hit it there."

EFM '09