With her fiancé Chris
on the road recruiting for Elmhurst football, Clare slept over for part of the
week. I know the ghost in the house was happy
for the visit, because our daughter is very considerate and always leaves the light
on for him in every room. Alright, maybe
I was a little happy, too.
Naturally, we went
hitting one night at Stella’s. At 7 PM
on a cold Tuesday evening, there were a total of six people there—a 12-year old
and his hitting instructor (maybe an older brother), a 14-year old and her
father and a 26-year old with her father (depending on her mood, Clare might
list me among her hitting coaches). My
kid didn’t do too badly. She went twelve
tokens good for 120 pitches and put the bat on every one, with just one foul
tip. You know, if she practiced, she
might be really good. Oh, wait, she did
and was and may still be.
Our reward was coming
home to a nice dinner of piping hot chili.
(By the way, kudos to the person who invented oyster crackers.) “How many of your co-workers went hitting
today?” I asked. But we all knew the
answer to that already. I think I even
caught the ghost smiling.
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