On Saturday, Charlie attended a baseball clinic at Dunkin Donuts Field, home of the Double-A Hartford Yard Goats.
He was so excited about playing on a professional baseball field. The night before, we drove by the stadium as a game was in progress. All lit up, stands filled with fans, the field looked like a emerald jewel in the night.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be on that field tomorrow,” he whispered.
He was just as excited to take the field the next day and learn from Yard Goats players.
Following the clinic, the whole family attended the afternoon game.
We were sitting along the first base side, just beyond the netting that protects fans from foul balls. It’s an ideal place to catch a foul ball, but it also means remaining alert lest you get struck by a ball.
Clara was sitting beside me, reading of course. In the fourth inning, with the Yard Goats at bat, Clara pointed to a word on the page and asked me for a definition. As I looked down at the page to find the word, I heard the crack of the bat. Before I even had time to look up, the ball struck Clara in the head, precisely on the brim of her baseball cap, which was dipped down, shielding her face, since she, too, was looking at the page of the book.
The brim of the hat absorbed the blow so miraculously well that Clara barely felt the ball.
After hitting her hat, the ball careened right, landing on the adjacent concrete stairs, where it was immediately swallowed up by a band of ball-hawking little boys, Charlie included.
Had her nose not been buried in a book, that ball would’ve struck her in the face.
Instead, she barely noticed it.
Another point in favor of reading.
