We’ve had a full house here the last few weeks. Our college kids are home before summer jobs call them away. The other kids are slugging through final exams and the remaining days of school.
In the afternoons, Johnny comes bounding down the driveway looking for attention from a licensed driver. He knows they can take him places. And they have debit cards.
So Johnny bounces from Greta to Angela to Michael, seeking out adventure. Frisbee golf. A trip to the park or the dollar store. Baseball.
If he’s really lucky, he’ll hit the jackpot and get the ultimate, which is baseball. Angela is usually good for a trip to the batting cages or baseball diamond. Yesterday, as soon as she finished work, Johnny was waiting with his Easton baseball pack. They were off.
Since there was a game at our local baseball field, the batting cages were unavailable. Angela regrouped and drove to an elementary school baseball diamond where Johnny often has practices. They played catch. Johnny threw pitches. And they practiced hitting. Something dramatic happened at home plate which Angela caught on camera.
To spend even a moment in that imagination.
Eventually, nature called. Like a flash, our budding baseball star headed for the wooded area off the 3rd baseline. Angela ran after him, reminding him that a Porta-Potty had been delivered for the summer season. She caught him in the nick of time. But he argued the superiority of his first option through the vent of the green monster.
She had a good laugh.
When he finished micturating (it’s actually word), he insisted on running back into the woods. Angela couldn’t figure out what was going on. But Johnny yelled over his shoulder that he had to go back. Something had caught his eye. He emerged from the woods with his treasure.
And brought it home for me.
Be still, my heart.