Chapter 2

Chapter 2


The street on which we lived took a winding path following a ridge directly above the historic Virgin river. It had the feeling of a country lane though neatly nestled within a hodgepodge of middle class houses and vacant lots. Between our humble two story salt box and next home on the street set one of those abandoned and forgotten weed filled lots. Each season after considerable nagging from my sons I endeavored to create a crude practice field on the unattended property.
And so as the fragrant aroma of blossoming springtime flora signaled the changing of seasons we gathered our equipment and made the ceremonial trip to the ragged field. First we humped up and smoothed out a small pile of dirt. Then after carefully surveying the brownish heap of sandy soil Tanner proudly dubbed it the pitchers mound. Next I carefully paced 40 steps along a gentle slope. Throwing down an old piece of whitish rubber I proclaimed it home plate.
Proudly Assailing the homemade mound Tanner stood with an illuminating smile. it amazed me how such a simple thing could make a boy break out into such a wide mouthed grin. Feeling the corners of my own mouth also beginning to turn up I realized how much his rising emotional state had effected my own. Quickly I snapped a
mental photograph, a memory to be used as a shield against future emotions not so jolly and pleasant.
Donning my glove i flexed the ridged leather pocket of the mitt and endeavored to work out the stiffness. Gently crouching behind the crude rubber plate I took my place as the designated catcher.
Studying my beaming son from my hunched position I marveled at how he had grown. I silently hoped he had sprouted on the inside as well as the out.
Winding himself like a overly tightened spring then quickly disentangling Tanner unleashed his fist offering of the fledgling season. With a Swoosh the ball tumbled from his fingertips then rocketed high over my out stretched glove. Watching the ball ricochet like a pinball threw the rocks and weeds I managed a settling smile. Quietly rising from my squatting stance I slowly strode after the baseball. Dodging prickly pear cactus and rag weed of every variety I located and retrieved the leather coated ball of twine. lightly tossing it back to Tanner I told him it might take awhile to shake off the rust. My age showed as I groaned and crouched back into a huddle stance only to abruptly Spring up once again. But, It was too late and I watched in vain as another left-handed fastball spiraled wildly high and wide. This time I Laughed as I stood, trying to dispel the obvious disappointed shown from his wrinkled brow.
At the tender age of 12 years Tanner stood a pudgy 5’ 2“ . Equipped with intense blue eyes and a very infectious grin he could warm even the coldest heart. The additional task of being the big brother to three such rambunctious siblings had been quite a challenge for him. Being the oldest can be a blessing or a curse and for him with six eyes eagerly watching , worshiping and repeating his every move it was a little of both. Thankfully Taylor happily sacrificed much to help lightening his burden. Today as always the boys scampered nearby occasionally pausing and intently peering as we practiced.
Distracted momentarily by their playful banter before training my sight back upon Tanner. I immediately Noticed that he had began to spastically jerk. my chuckling promptly faded and I resign from my ruminations.