I used to love baseball.
No, not “like,” really, really love it.
As a kid I was a star pitcher and first baseman for a Little League team called the Padres. My brother played in the older division for the Pirates. We used to play countless games of catch in the backyard, at the park, you name it. If we went on a family trip, our gloves went with us.
My mom’s side of the family loved the sport, too. There were eight siblings, and my grandfather used to coach many of them. All of us – my aunts and uncles had more than 40 children – would gather every Sunday at my grandparents home in Houston and we would often make our way to the park around the corner for softball.
Everyone played. The adults, the kids, and, if a stranger came by, they could hop in the game.
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