It was twelve
years ago this weekend, with Clare starting eighth grade and my Auntie Fran celebrating
her 80th birthday. (The card
for #92 went out on Monday.)
You could say
that everyone was on pins and needles; Clare had just tried out for two travel
teams, and we were waiting to hear back from them. I had never seen my daughter perform at such
an intense level before the way she did at the first tryout; Pony baseball had
been a slightly more casual affair. Among
other things, we didn’t use a stopwatch to time anyone running the bases.
The day before my
aunt’s birthday, Clare put on a second display at a tryout, pretty much rifling
every pitch she saw from the pitching machine; at one point she hit the coach
who was sitting by the machine and taking notes on each player. At the end of the tryout, he came up to me
and said, “In the fifteen years I’ve been doing this, I have never seen anyone
so relaxed at the plate or with hands so fast.” Yes, I wrote it down the better
to remember, that and when he said, “Obviously, you’re thinking college.”
In truth, I was
thinking my aunt’s birthday party, eighth grade, high school and the
possibility of the White Sox going to the World Series (they did), in no
particular order. Clare was 13 at the
time. What did I know about college
softball? I didn’t even know she’d
basically tried out for a 16u team.
After the barbecue and
birthday cake, we came home early that Sunday evening. Clare got two phone calls, within minutes of
each other. One coach had changed his
mind and now wanted her on his team, the other just wanted her. Nothing was ever the same after that.
It’s a good memory
folded into another.
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