Flashes of Panic

I talked to my nieces on the phone last night, on the occasion of the younger one’s fourth birthday. One of my aunts called us annually on our birthdays, and I want to establish a similar streak with the girls.

The older one is playing organized tee-ball now. If you’re not familiar with tee-ball, it’s essentially baseball, but instead of the ball being pitched, it’s set up on a rubber stand (the tee) in front of the batter, who swings at it until they get a hit. So it’s baseball without the pitcher on defense. (I recall playing in a baseball league where the pitcher pitched to a certain count for each batter, then the tee came out if necessary. Since I couldn’t really focus on the game at that point—or the ball, for that matter—I never really moved on in baseball.)

There’s no sign of little-league syndrome affecting this player yet, though. She described the uniforms in detail, and told me when practices and games were, but offered no comment on the game itself.

Now Playing: Nuclear from Demolition by Ryan Adams