The first sport I ever played was tee-ball. My dad took me to the store and we picked out a purple bat. We practiced a lot before the first game. I wasn’t very good at all. I didn’t understand the game clearly. I was so scared for the first game because I knew I wasn’t going to do well. My parents told me not to worry.
On the first day of the game we went to the park. I was in my old jean shorts and my curly hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. I lugged my bat and big water bottle all the way to the field. The coach warmed up the players by playing catch. I thought that was going to be the whole game, playing catch with some guy I didn’t know very well.
I figured out that wasn’t the whole game. All the other kids my age seemed to know what they were doing. I didn’t. The couch told me to get in the line behind a few other kids. When it was my turn to bat, I walked up to the tee and swung at the ball. Then I neatly put my bat back on the ground because I saw other kids throw theirs to the side. I wanted to show my parents that I respected the things they bought me. They always said I didn’t.
Then my coach yelled to me, “Run to first base!” I didn’t run
So he yelled it again. “Go! Run! Run to the base!”
I remember looking at everyone looking at me. I started walking to the base. Even though everyone was telling me to pick up my pace.
I could hear my dad voice yelling, “Molly! Go faster! Run!”
Next I heard the boy behind me yell, “Run!” I just kept walking.
When I eventually got to first base, I could see the shock and disappointment in my parents faces. I just wondered what their problem was. Just because they wanted me to play tee ball sure didn’t mean I wanted to play. It worked. They never took me to another practice. And they never signed me up again.