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The Softball Season I will never Forget
One day at my seventh grade softball game, my dad volunteered to umpire. I thought alright, he won’t be too hard on me. Man was I wrong. It was my second time up to bat and I swung at the first two pitches. One that was a strike and one that was obviously not. The next pitch came in and I hit but it went foul. The fourth pitch came in, it was the best pitch of the day… for some reason I thought it was a little low and even if it were a strike my dad would not call me out. So the pitch crosses the plate and I stand there with my bat on my shoulder, in the batters box and let the pitch goes by me. The umpire also known as my dad yelled, “Strike Three, Your Out!” I turned to look at him (with an evil glare) and then threw my bat on the ground and walked away. I told my dad I would never talk to him again. Did he really just call me out?
After the game, I storm to the car and luckily my parents had driven separately. I got in the car with my mom and was just so mad. I ask, “Mom, why did dad call me out?” she replied with the typical answer. “I don’t know Mallory why don’t you ask him yourself when you get home. I kept thinking. Did he really just call me out?

To tell the truth I was never really that good at softball with initials of MLB, you think I would be. I have never fully forgiven my dad to this day because who expects their dad to call him out. To this day I keep thinking did he really call me out?





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