Ahead of Schedule

Clare was three years and ten months when we walked over one day to the Avenue Drug Store on Oak Park Avenue. I wanted the paper, she wanted the wiffle-ball-and-bat set in the toy aisle. How could I say, No? Back home, we went out front so I could pitch to her. The first ball she ever hit came straight at my head. A year or so later, she lined a ball into the gut of a Chicago politician we’re related to by marriage. You should’ve seen the look on his face. Girls weren’t supposed to do that. The homeruns took a few years more. On Monday, I saw a video of my grandson, two years and six months, with a bat in his hand, and his mother pitching. He exhibited a nice, compact swing and made solid contact, though I kind of wish Leo had lined a bal at his mother’s head, so she’d know the feeling. With any luck at all, the homeruns will come before long.