I love socks.
Considering this fact, there was no way that I was going to let Steve's Drymax sock contest pass me by without an entry. The deadline is tonight at midnight, and I was finally able to put in my entry this morning. The contest is called "Tales of a Virgin Athlete", and in order to enter, one must write a story in 300 words or less that falls in the line of the title theme.
This was no problem for me.
I just had to wait for my mother to email me an appropriate photo depicting my budding childhood softball career. I was quite the athlete. It was apparent to all who knew me.
What...you don't see it?
My mother emailed this beautiful picture to me yesterday morning, but I was at home dying and didn't get the email. When she didn't get the attention that she needed from me, she proceeded to also send this picture to My Sista. According to My Momma, My Sista responded back with the following:
"Hey...I don't remember Beth when she was a beaver!"
Man, I love that girl.
Here is my entry:
The fact that I am entering a contest that has the word "athlete" in
the title is laughable. Sure, sure. I jog, I sweat, I lift weights
and do core work. I "train". However, athletes have been doing those
things since they were in their mother's womb.
My first word was "hungry".
Luckily, my father embraced the fact that he was blessed with two
little girls in his world. As soon as we were allowed to participate,
he got my big sister and I involved in softball. On summer evenings,
we would hurry outside after dinner to get in as much practice as
possible before dark.
We would stand in a triangle formation, throwing the ball to each
other on the front lawn. Sometimes my dad would throw the ball really
fast, just to see if we could handle the pain. Sometimes, he'd pitch
us a fast grounder, causing us to scramble to keep the ball from
rolling into the cornfield. He’d get out the aluminum bat, and
Jessica and I ran after the balls as he batted.
I still remember the "clink" of the ball on that aluminum bat.
I was a terrible softball player. Since I was not especially
coordinated, talented, fast, or athletic, I was ousted to center
field. Very few balls ever entered center field. When I did encounter
the occasional fly ball, I would struggle to field the ball solely to
get it out of my area. I knew the ball had no hope with me. I had to
immediately deliver it to a capable, talented, coordinated athlete!
Although I sucked, I loved softball.
The way my Dad laughed as I clumsily floundered for the ball. The way
he never missed a single game.
The way the memories have stuck to my brain like glue.