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A Baseball Bat
A Patriotic American and Expectant Father.
Ah baseball, The American pastime.
I remember those days, swinging my bat in the summertime in the old playing field.
Now I’ll get to relive those days with my son, I can’t wait to teach him how to swing.
Summers will be filled with watching him run those bases and hearing that crowd cheer.
Yep, nothing quite as American as baseball, except voting republican of course.
Baseball bats, the main weapon of the revolution, man.
How many times have I walked down the streets with my brothers, and used this rod of metal to send the windows of Starbucks crashing down?
It’s shielded me from the sticks of those lousy pigs so many times.
And to think my dad wanted to me to use it to play baseball. Psh.
A Baseball Player
Visiting dad doesn’t feel like much of a vacation anymore.
The very first thing he does when I get in there is wave that bat in my face and say
“How about showing me that major league arm of yours?”
Doesn’t he realize that that’s nothing but work to me? My job is now to play baseball.
This love of the game has turned into hate, but I have to humor the old man, after all, I’m the son who’s not using the bat to tear down a Starbucks.
A Great Grandfather and Italian American
I vemember when I first came to this country thee virst ting they tell me learn is basebol.
I vaised my son on thee game in hopes that he would be accepted by these people, and he in turn taught it to his son.
For an immigrant, Basebol games vas one of the few places we could go and not veel like outsiders, as vlong as you loved the game everyone loved you.
Nothing is quite as American as basebol, except voting Democrat of course.