The Swing

In the interest of cultivating well-roundedness in their children, my parents

had signed me up for a summer softball league. I was already taking piano
and dance lessons, which I adored, and had played one season of basketball,
soccer, and tee ball, which I did not. Softball was next on my dads
extracurricular list.
ust try it out for one season,! he ca"oled. #ad was the softball coach for
the $th grade girls team at the middle school where he taught, and I think
he looked forward to sharing the love of this sport with his daughter. %e
probably imagined afternoons playing catch in the backyard, watching
&igers games and speculating about the players, cheering me on as I played
my heart out on the 'eld. (nfortunately, fantasy and reality did not align in
this case.
)y emotions toward softball were more along the lines of fear, dread,
certainty of impending doom, anxiously aware of the many ways I could
make a fool of myself. *ractices were excruciatingly long and games even
longer. +n a championship team with sixth thru eighth graders who lived
and breathed softball, which was evidenced by their powerful swings, their
sliding into bases, and their diving catches, I was the dork stuck in the
out'eld, picking dandelions and watching pu-y clouds .oat by.
/ou were so funny,! my dad often reminisces with a fond smile on his face.
/oud get so excited when a ball was hit your way, you would "ump up and
.ap your arms up and down, at which point I imagine myself as some
awkward tween-ish bird with knobby limbs and "erky movements, and youd
shriek as you pointed at the ball.! %ere he chuckles, /oud be pointing at
the ball while one of your teammates ran up to grab it, and then youd clap
your hands when they threw the ball in'eld.!
&his is how I un-participated. &he anxiety of making a mistake was such that
I refused to make any plays. 0t all.
)y anxiety was particularly heightened when I was up to bat. I was terri'ed.
Id step up to the plate facing the highly improbable likelihood that I would
actually connect bat with ball, sending it soaring into the out'eld while I
bounced around the bases, face relaxed in a con'dent smile as my sure
strides carried me home. Instead, I would hunch down in an awkward
batting stance, my uncertainty forcing me to swing too early or too late or
too high or too low or too...o-. *ractice batting sessions taught me 1uickly
that, if my teammates were counting on me to score runs, wed all be in
trouble.
2eing up to bat was even more terrifying during games, 'rst because I had
an actual audience, and second because the pitchers were the de'nition of
intimidation. &heir 'ercely narrowed ga3es stabbed the strike 3one as they
stepped back, swinging their arm in a huge, blurry circle before 'ring the ball
toward the plate. I would watch the ball .ying out of their hands toward me,
and my 'rst instinct would be to crouch down on the ground with my hands
covering my head. 2arely 'ghting that instinct, I would stand still, since the
course of the ball was unpredictable and nearly impossible for me to follow. I
would either get struck out, walked, or hit with the ball, but at least I
wouldnt be showing everyone how weirdly inaccurate my swing was.
0s I employed this new method, I discovered that most of the pitches were
balls anyway. &he pitchers may have been 'erce but they lacked accuracy,
thank the 4ord above. )y method was actually a pretty e-ective strategy
that worked 567 of the time- if I didnt swing, Id probably get a walk. I
ended up spending much more time on base than I would have if Id tried to
hit the elusive ball, so I stuck with my strategy for the entire season. Stand
still. #ont make any moves. ust get through it. 8ach game brought me
one step closer to the end of the season, and I spent every inning avoiding
participation while keeping my dignity intact.
&hat all changed on the last day, the day of our championship game between
(s and &hem. &hey were our toughest competitors, and tension soared as
we stayed neck and neck for the 'rst eight innings. )y team had managed
to carry me through, but now it was my turn at bat. I rose up from the bench
and glanced back to where my mom and dad sat in their fraying lawn chairs.
#ad gave me a thumbs up, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised, sporting a wide,
encouraging smile. )y smile was shaky in return. &aking tremulous steps,
gripping the bat in my sweaty palms, I stepped up to the plate and faced the
pitcher... my nemesis.
9ed braids peaked from under her green cap. :reckles dusted her face. %er
blue eyes were narrowed with contempt, mouth twisted in her trademark
sneer. +ur relationship began with her bestowing upon me the nickname of
:our 8yes! in 'rst grade, and continued with her fre1uently antagoni3ing
me when I dared make eye contact with her or walk in her general direction.
&oday was no di-erent. She took one look at me, smirked, and called to her
team, #ont worry guys. 8asy out right here. She never swings anyway;!
Oooh-kay. I thought. Never swings, huh? I tightened my grip on the bat,
bent my knees, and raised my arms in what I hoped was a passable batting
stance. Game on. )y heart pounding, I watched as she readied herself for
the pitch. She brought her feet together, took a deep breath, and stepped
forward while swinging her arm around in the circular pitch that was sure to
doom me. &he ball 3oomed toward me in a blur. I closed my eyes. Stepped
forward. 0nd swung the bat.
Crrr-ack! I opened my eyes to see the ball arc up into the sky and into left
'eld. Did I do that? I thought in ama3ement. I turned toward 'rst and took
a hesitant step. 0nd another. 0nd another. I picked up the pace until I was
sprinting to 'rst base, certain that I wont make it, I wont make it, I wont
make it. Suddenly, my foot slapped the base and the ump yelled, Safe! and
I turned around to see my coach calling for a &I)8 +(&;! and he ran
forward and swept me up in a hug.
&hats what Im talking about; /ou swung; /ou did it; Im so proud of you;!
%is words mixed with the sounds of clapping and cheering and, as he turned
around to run back to the dugout, I could see my teammates standing up
and raising their arms above their heads in celebration, their beaming faces
warming me from across the in'eld. Did I do that? &he next batter was up,
and I raced to second as she hit a single. <ext, the star of our team hit a
triple which allowed me to race to home plate, having earned my 'rst run in
softball.
I walked back to the bench and slapped hands in high 'ves as I sat down,
ready to en"oy the rest of the game. :or the 'rst time in my softball career, I
felt invested in the game. I cheered on my teammates as heartily as they
had cheered for me, clapping my hands so forcefully they stung and turned
an angry red. =hen I went back out to the out'eld, I raced to my spot.
=hen a ball .ew toward me, I went after it with signi'cantly less shrieking
and arm-.apping, I almost beat my teammate there, once. =hen we were
handed our trophies at the end of the championship game, having defeated
&hem, I felt like my grin would split my face. >ameras cicked to record this
victorious moment, a moment that I had a hand in making.
?reat "ob, 2oot;! #ad was behind me and he held up his hand for a high
've. I drew my arm back and "umped to hit his hand. )y hand swooshed
past his, the momentum driving me forward three, wobbly steps before I
caught myself. I 1uickly glanced around, but no one seemed to have
noticed.
%a;! I shook my head to clear away the warmth that was rising up my
cheeks. 4ets try that again.! &his time, I held my hand up and #ads hand
hit mine, then wrapped around it, warm and big and comforting. =e turned
and began walking, hand-in-hand, to see the rest of my family. )y mother,
'ghting with the folding chairs while trying wrangle my three younger
brothers into the same general area, glanced up and met my eyes. %er
1uick smile embraced me in the way her full hands wouldnt allow.
>ongratulations, #inna; I am so proud of you. /our 'rst hit; %ow do you
feel@!
I looked over my shoulder at my teammates, getting their own
congratulatory hugs, talking and laughing with each other. )y nemesis was
standing next to her dad, hands gesturing wildly as she talked toward his
scowling face. She turned her face slightly, those blue eyes scanning her
surroundings. &hey swept closer to where I stood. I turned my head 1uickly
and looked back at )om. I feel pretty good;!
=e took the folding chairs from )oms arms, and began walking toward our
tan 0stro minivan, #ad walking beside me while )om dropped behind to
herd the boys toward our destination.
So, now that the seasons 'nished, what do you think about softball@ /ou
think you might wanna sign up for next year@!
0nd that, right there, was the 1uestion. )y season had ended on an
impossibly high note. )y 'rst run. )y 'rst time showing my nemesis what
was up. +f course, up to this point, I had spent every second hating the fact
that I was there. 0ll those moments of inade1uacy, of uncertainty, of
refusing to move for fear that I would make a mistake, of putting on a brave
face for my teammates, my coach, my parents. +f convincing both them
and myself that I didnt regret signing up for this. 0nd now, when I actually
had a positive memory to add to the bank, was I going to "ust walk away
from this sport@ &he sport that #ad loves@
I thought about it as we all piled into the 0stro. I thought about it as I swung
the door shut and examined the softball 'eld through the dust-speckled
window. I thought about it as #ad started the engine, backed out of the
space, and began navigating the busy parking lot traAc. I thought about it
as we pulled out of the parking lot and drove away, and I watched the 'eld
shrink smaller and smaller in the rear van window. I thought about how it
would feel to never put on this uniform. <ever step a cleated foot on the
'eld. <ever feel the smack of the ball into my glove. <ever-
So what do you think, 2oot@ Softball again next year@! )y dads 1uestion
pulled me back from my musings and into the moment. I had weighed and
measured these memories and reached a conclusion. I reali3ed that I
wanted a future where the only activities I participated in were those that I
en"oyed and truly wanted in my life. 9egardless of how my parents may feel,
I had to be true to myself. I took a deep breath, the rightness of my decision
causing the air that 'lled my lungs to taste so sweet.
<ope,! I shook my head emphatically. I think that was it for me.! #ad
nodded his head slowly, facing forward so I couldnt read his expression.
)om turned around and o-ered me a small smile. Softballs not for you,
huh@ 0re piano and dance more your thing@! She got it.
#ad smiled and reached back to pat my knee and tell me he was proud of
me for trying softball I know it wasnt your idea of fun, but you stuck with
it;! %e got it.
I sighed my relief, settled back against my seat, and watched the trees blur
past. &ime to head home.