I drove through the park the other day, to enjoy the new buds of spring and the warm breeze. Then I stopped to watch some Little League enthusiasts play ball. Before I knew it, my eyes stung with sweet memories and I was thinking about a day like this one, from 20 years ago.
All those years ago, my son was a gangly five-year-old with skinny legs lost in too-big baseball pants. I smiled as I remembered how his cute little ears bent forward when he stuffed his cap too low on his head. How he insisted on smearing that black stuff under his eyes like the pros on TV.
How he cried all the way home when his team lost.
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