Life's Outtakes

It was my first practice with my baseball team of five- and six-year-olds. As Brin stepped to the plate for her first time at bat, I heard her father yell “Don’t forget, Brin, dynamite comes in small packages. Show ‘em how it’s done!”

 I smiled. Brin was definitely a small package. She was at least six inches smaller than the next smallest member of the team. Because of her size, I had saved her for last, hoping to have a little extra time to help her get a hit. Even though I had let each child try swinging, I had eventually had to have them simply hold the bat out where I could aim my pitch at it. To improve my aim, I had moved a little closer and a little closer until I was only about 10 to 15 feet from home plate.

As Brin stepped to the plate, she shifted her feet back and forth a couple of times, digging small holes for them. That was when I noticed for the first time that she was wearing miniature cleats. She whacked the plate a couple of times with her bat and turned to face me with a steely-eyed glare. It was all I could do to keep from laughing as her whole demeanor was that of a small, professional ball player. The only thing she lacked was a wad of chew in the side of her mouth.

But what made it even funnier was that the bat appeared to be bigger than she was. I figured it weighed more. She hoisted it to her shoulder and rested it there as she crouched slightly.

 “Now, Brin,” I said, “you will probably want to choke up on the bat a little.”
“Just pitch it!” she hollered back.

“Did you just want to hold the bat out and let me throw at it?” I asked, thinking that with her size it might be good to just cut to the chase.

 Her glare deepened as she shot out a challenge that sounded like it came from an adult. “Just see if you can put it in the strike zone!”

 Being so close to the plate, that wasn’t a huge challenge. Still smiling, I tossed the ball in a nice, gentle arch.

I only had a moment to see her swinging when the ball came quickly back at me, straight at my face. The short distance only gave me an instant to move, but it was enough that I missed the full force of the ball, and was only nicked in the side of the forehead. I was dazed as much by the fact that she hit it as by the pain just above my right eye.

John, one of the dads, had volunteered to be my assistant and to help me when he could. Everyone was quiet as he ran on the field to see if I was okay. Rules said a batter had to stop at third, and Brin was already there by the time he reached me.
“Are you okay?

I nodded.
 He laughed. “You ought to see the shiner the ball gave you.

I was still stunned. “Wow! Did you see that hit?”

“Yes. But I’ve seen her hit before. Maybe I should mention that her dad practices with her all of the time.”

He grinned as I sarcastically thanked him for this late information. “Is there anything else I should know?” I asked.
“Don’t get in the road of the ball when she throws it.”

 “I won’t,” I promised. “After all, dynamite does come in small packages.”