Howdy,
My dad is visiting this weekend. Grandpa Bill, to our boys. My Uncle Donnie is here as well, traveling with Grandpa.
Jasper and Titus and Riah are loving it! Soaking up the attention, the boys have been on tiptoes in excitement since about four and a half hours before their arrival, from the time my dad called and said they were on their way. Seriously, Titus heard me tell Sarah they were coming and stepped behind an alcoved corner next to our front door to hid. To hid, and to be ready to surprise and greet. Excited.
The excitement has continued into the second day, and now, along with it, a readiness for showing off the next thing or seeing what Grandpa Bill or (Great) Uncle Donnie have up their camou sleeves next. Dad and Uncle Donnie have been fabulous with them, giving time and playful interaction.
I say (Great) Uncle in parenthesis because we’re calling him Uncle Donnie like I always have, but it’s crazy that now he’s a Great Uncle to my boys. My dad brought it up, like “Actually, you’d be a Great Uncle to them, right?” And Uncle Donnie saying, “I suppose that’d be correct, more than likely.”
That, and Uncle Donnie said, “I’ve always been a Great uncle — or at least tried to be.”
And I agree. He always has been. Great Uncle Donnie has been a great uncle.
This afternoon we all burst outdoors when the sun broke through for some outside time. (When I say burst I mean made it out before it started raining again or got dark after an hour of talking about it and gathering everything we needed as a group to seep out the door like molasses escaping the inside of a winterized tree trunk.)
But we made it outside this afternoon. And made good use of the time and fresh air.
We had an athletic affair. With something like a Punt, Pass & Kick breaking out.
“Punt, pass and kick (PP&K) is a skills competition offered by the National Football League and designed for youths aged 6 to 15” (Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Punt,_Pass,_and_Kick).
Except only Jasper is the only one in the 6 to 15 age group. And us adults most only witnessed what we can’t do anymore. It was still fun. (If you drove by Walnut Elem this afternoon, that wasn’t us.)
Grandpa brought a football for Jasper and a soccer ball for Titus, so we wanted to break them in a bit, and we hauled Wiffle ball equipment with us as well.
Our PP&K was hardly NFL. No, it was kind of a Punt, Pass & Kick, but with different sports. We kicked the soccer ball, punted the football, and passes baby Riah around so that everyone could hit.
And everyone but Riah did take turns hitting, which was fun. Pitcher, outfielder, catcher, batter. Wiffle ball in the wind. Good times.
And here’s where it gets especially interesting … When I batted, a ball got crushed, dented in, took off like a rocket but then started to flutter like a wounded duck. Smashed. Uncle Donnie (the pitcher) even called it in-flight: “That ball’s got a dent.”
Oh, yeah.
Crazy what his swing and a plastic bat can do.
So, after we were done I made sure to point out to Sarah the damage I’d done with my might swing and strength. Handed it to her, like a keepsake to my power-hitting prowess.
“Oh, nice,” she said. “Little Tikes.”
“What are you talking about? Little Tikes?”
“It’s a Little Tikes ball.” Sarah smiled.
It told her to focus on the smashed dent, collapsing the ball practically in half, not the name brand.
She said, “That’s great, Babe. You really smashed that Little Tikes ball.”
Better believe I did.
—Billy
Reading. Writing. Living.
Word Count: 62,864 / On Pace: 64,900 / Year’s Goal: 200,000
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