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Striking out on the Batting Tee: A Life in Practice That first year girls got the nod of permit, I played so badly it was cool, my eye trained over the elusive fruit or under its spherical rule. Again and again I chopped at the tee, making training league history – the first first-grader to strike out on a gimme. On the team I was happily the worst. My mother insisted I quit. My father promised an ice cream cone for each base gained. What triumph under a hat like a palm, on one bald field. Now grown, I cling to my legacy of distress: Failed at a uniform, more failed at a dress. By Jen Karetnick Originally published in Gulf Stream Review. Collected in Eve and After, ©2007 by Jen Karetnick. Please request permission before copying or distributing. |
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