When my parents dropped me off at college, both gave some parting advice. The advice I got from my mom was the important kind; Study hard. Everything in moderation. Call if you need help with your laundry. That kind of stuff.
I’ll never forget what my dad said.
“The only way you win in Co-ed softball is if the girls can play. The only reason we ever won anything is because we had your mother.”
Mom could rake.
One of my earliest memories is wandering around some softball complex as a very small toddler knowing my parents were out there on the field. Mostly, hunting down that fifth snow cone. I’m sure someone was in charge of watching me.
Mom played second base. She had the side arm thing down. Her dad was an Army General with three older boys. Mom was the youngest by a good number and I’d guess that after the boys moved out, my grandfather still wanted to play catch in the back yard.
He taught my Mom to throw side arm. “Wouldn’t hurt your arm later in life,” he said. He might have been right.
Mom is [age is just a number, don’t worry about it] but she still plays catch. Still hits a whiffle like nobody’s business. She’s a little pull happy, but Tony Gwynn loved to go to the left side, too.
Thanks for everything, Mom.