SLUGGER
By E. Don Harpe
Copyright 2008 Ernest D. Harp
Smashwords Edition
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Weighing just a bit over four pounds at birth, we were told Braxten might be a bit slower to develop than children with a more normal birth weight. We wondered and worried about that for a few months, but as the first couple of years passed and we got the opportunity to watch her grow, we realized the fears were ungrounded. We are so proud and so lucky to have the remarkable little girl we have come to call…
SLUGGER
The late April day was bright and beautiful, but even in Florida’s Panhandle the wind carried a slight chill. It was not quite noon on a Saturday morning, and even before we exited the car we heard the screaming and shouting. Looking out across the large field we saw more activity than we would ordinarily have witnessed in a month.
Everywhere we looked people were running, and the noise level would have been more than we could stand had not most of it been carried away on the stiff wind that blew in from the Gulf of Mexico and washed across the open space were we stood; me, my wife, our daughter and our six year old granddaughter.
It was the first day of T-Ball practice, and the five and six year old children were absorbed on everything except playing ball. Some ran around the field, some jumped up and down and others sat on the grass, waiting for someone to tell them exactly what they were out here for.
Our granddaughter’s name is Braxten, we call her Braxi, and she would be carrying on a family tradition when she began playing ball. Her grandmother played, her mother played, her aunt and uncle played. Her grandpa had played all of his life, and we were anxious to see how the newest ball player in the family would adjust to the hoopla of a few hours on the ball diamond.
She took one look at the kids screaming on the field, took another look at her mom, then teared up and turned around. She wasn’t going to set one foot on that ball field, and no one could make her.
We coaxed her, we pleaded, we offered toys and candy and everything we could think of, all to no avail. She wouldn’t step on the field. With more resolve in her voice than I had heard in a long time, I listened as her mother quietly explained what was going on, and how much fun it was going to be. No deal! I watched as her mom took her tiny hand and led her out to where the other members of the team were running and shouting. She stiffened up, took slow dragging steps, and the tears became more plentiful.
Not a chance she was going onto that ball field. Not with those kids, not today, not tomorrow, not ever.
We picked up her little pink ball glove, grabbed the brand new T-Ball bat, and headed for the van. If she wanted to go home, we’d take her home.
Which, of course, was something she was used to. Us doing what she wanted, I mean. It has been that way since the day she was born.
The pregnancy was anything but normal. Our daughter, Syntha Nicole, Nikki, was not having an easy time carrying the tiny life that was growing inside her, and we had already been told she might not carry the baby full term.
After the first few months of one problem after another, during her fifth month her doctor suggested she take up residence in the Ronald McDonald house in Oklahoma City, so as to be near the doctor and the hospital at all times. This was not an easy thing for any of us, either for her husband or for us, as we lived some 70 miles to the Southeast, and it took at least two hours for us to get to the hospital or to the McDonald house to visit. But the doctor told us the baby’s life might be in danger if Nikki continued to live at home. In our small town there were no hospital facilities that could offer the care the premature child was going to need, or the care that would be required during the procedure. That left little choice but to follow the doctor’s advice and have Nikki stay in Oklahoma City until after the baby came.
True to the predictions, the baby came at seven months. Braxten Paige entered the world in the early morning hours of July 2, 2000, and weighed in at a bit over four pounds. I held her when she was less than 10 minutes old, the youngest I have ever held one of my children or grandchildren. Although she was tiny, she was perfect, and was the most beautiful little child I had ever seen. (Please note I said about each of my four children, and I truly believe it to be so.)
Brax and her mother remained at the hospital for several days, until there was no chance any complications were going to occur, and then came the day we drove into the city and returned home with our daughter and new granddaughter safe and secure in the car with us.
After that, the world kind of turned upside down.
From the start Braxten became the center of attention, and while I’d like to say it was because of her tiny size and her fragility, that may not be entirely true. The truth is she became the center of attention because she demanded it. From the day she made her appearance she fully expected everyone to pay her the most attention, and of course, everyone did just that.
It quickly became apparent there was absolutely nothing wrong with her. She ate well, slept well, crawled and walked in the normal time frames of full term children, and exhibited more strength and hand eye coordination than any baby I’d ever seen. At five months, sitting in the floor near the kitchen, she somehow managed to get her tiny fingers behind a piece of corner molding on the wall and pried it off. It was only about a three-foot section, but nonetheless she pulled it off the wall and held it up for us to see.
At ten months she was walking, and at eleven months she was running. She was blessed with very little hair, having a tiny fuzz like growth all over her head that in photographs sometimes resembled a halo. Thinking back, it could very well have been a halo because she was an angel if there ever was one. With a smile that could melt the hardest heart and a voice like a small chain saw, she controlled the world around her with a will of iron and the promise of a grin.
So it was, on that sunny but chilly April morning in the Panhandle of Florida, the four of us walked off the T-Ball field, climbed into our van, and headed for home.
On the long ride home she explained she didn’t know T-Ball was playing on a big field with a bunch of other kids and a lot of adults watching. I asked her what she thought it was, and she just shook her head. She didn’t know what it was supposed to be, only what it wasn’t.
We went back home and I spent the next few days in the back yard letting her get the hang of swinging the little pink bat we had bought her, and pitching the ball carefully so it would land in her little pink glove, and then letting her run to the base in her little pink and black ball shoes. She did an excellent job of all of that, and during that week she began to become a bit more comfortable with the idea of playing ball with the other children.
The next Saturday morning was a twin of the first one, and this time our daughter went to the ball field alone, just her and Braxi. She stayed a bit longer than the first day, and when she came home we saw a different child. She had finally understood what was supposed to be going on, and she wasn’t afraid any longer. Now she was excited about playing.
Being a retired guy has a few benefits, and being able to teach her to swing the bat with a lot of velocity is one of them. I put the home plate we had purchased for her in one corner of the back yard, and showed her how to stand in a hitting position. Then I had her swing the bat as hard as she could. Which wasn’t really all that hard. Not at first. In a few minutes she had grasped the idea, now to develop the swing.
I told her to stand at the plate, swing the bat as hard as she could, and try to throw it all the way to the fence. She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, but she did as I’d asked, and it was only a matter of time until she was throwing it almost all the way across the back yard. Now all I had to do was get her to swing that hard and not turn loose of the bat.
This was easier than I had expected. She understood the concept immediately, and by the end of the first afternoon she was taking a powerful swing at the ball, one that would have made a kid three years older proud.
Her mom and grandma worked with her every afternoon, pitching the ball to her and letting her throw it back to them. I showed her how to put her left leg in front of her body, hold her glove up and point with it at the place where she wanted to throw the ball, and then just throw right down her arm. She learned this very quickly as well, and it wasn’t long before she could throw the ball where she was aiming.
Next I had her stand at the plate and close her eyes and pretend she could see the ball coming at her. She did this several times, swinging at the imaginary ball, and then she opened her eyes and I pitched the ball to her. This took a bit longer for her to get good at, but in a few days she could hit the ball most of the time, if it came across the plate.
T-Ball is a great starting program for younger kids. It teaches them the fun of playing, without the stress that comes with winning or losing, and for some of them it will be the start of a long time relationship with organized sports.
For those of you unfamiliar with the game, let me quickly bring you up to speed. T-Ball is for kids that are too young to play regular little league, and is named after the fact that the ball is not pitched to the batter, but instead rests on a “Tee” they can hit it off of. This allows every child to hit the ball, and is a good beginning to teaching them how to swing a bat. The child will swing until he or she connects with the ball, and then they will fun to first base. Well, hopefully, they will run to first base. Some times they don’t run at all, sometimes they run to third or to the pitchers mound or just out on the field, but after a few games they remember they are supposed to run to first base. The inning doesn’t depend on ”outs” it lasts until every child has had his or her turn at bat, and then the other team comes in and takes their turn. Runs aren’t counted, so every child is a winner, and at their age, that’s a good system.
In the field, the kids take the positions assigned to them by their coaches, which is subject to change from game to game, and sometimes from minute to minute. There’s never any real way of telling exactly where one of the children will decide he or she wants to play that particular inning, and a big part of the time they move around quite a bit. Most have no idea what a ball glove is for, or why they have to wear one, and most of the time they will toss the glove on the ground and go after the ball with both hands. And usually they will throw the ball somewhere in the infield with whichever hand they pick it up with. Most of the time they don’t really throw the ball to a base, they just throw it, and then three or four or more of the others will run after it, one will pick it up and throw it somewhere else. It’s amazing, and most of the adults in the stands have more fun than the kids do.
Braxten was not much different when it came to catching the ball and knowing where to throw it, but once she decided on a target, she was more apt to actually throw the ball straight than most of the others. She’d grab the ball, decide where she intended to throw it, point with her left arm and glove, and throw the ball directly down her arm, just as she’d been taught. The truth is she put many of the boys to shame when it came to throwing the ball.
Some of the children are more advanced than others, and they don’t have to hit the ball off the T. Their own coach stands near the pitchers mound and lobs the ball to them, and they take the very best swing they can. If they don’t hit the ball in three pitches, then it gets teed up and they hit it that way.
We worked with Braxi almost every day, and we didn’t use a T. We pitched the ball to her, and it wasn’t long before she was hitting it very well. Her hard work paid off when she took the batter’s box during a game, because she managed to hit the ball as well as, or better than, anyone else on her team, including the boys. Well, I remember one young man who hit a ball farther than Brax did. He actually rolled the ball all the way to the fence in left center field. I don’t think she hit one that far, but she did hit it every time it was her turn to bat, and most of the time she hit it well.
Seeing as I am the one chiefly responsible for the way she swung the bat (Well, I am) let me take the time to brag a bit about Braxten’s best hit of the season,
It was the middle of May and Braxten’s first season of T-Ball had come down to the last game. Some of the kids were now a bit more disciplined about where to stand on the field, and how to swing the bat, and all of them had enjoyed the few weeks the season lasted.
In this first season, Braxten had become very consistent with her batting, and the truth is she has a very good “hitting eye” and great hand/eye coordination. She can watch the ball coming at her, she knows where it is coming, and she knows how to swing the bat in a way that it will connect with the ball. She was very dedicated as she learned this, and spent hours in our back yard pitching the ball into the air and hitting it with her bat. She did this because she wanted to, and not because we told her to, and usually it was harder to get her to stop practicing than it was to get her to start.
It was her second time at bat of the day, and I could see her determination as she walked to the plate and took her stance. She was determined to hit the ball, and, I think to hit it as far as possible.
The coach pitched the ball, Braxi swung, and missed. She backed out of the batter’s box and then reset herself. Another pitch, another swing, and this time the ball went foul down the left side of the infield, but traveled well beyond third base before it finally came to rest.
The fourth pitch she let go by, and then came the fifth one. I saw her bat go back into a fully cocked position and then come forward in what was perhaps her best swing of the year. I was standing right behind the fence at home plate, and I heard her breath rush out of her as she swung the bat, and then I heard the solid thump of the bat striking the ball, and to my delight I saw the ball take off on the fly, headed past the pitcher and directly toward the shortstop. As was usual for these games, none of the kids stopped the ball, and I was screaming as much as her mom and grandmother were as the ball hit the infield between shortstop and third base and took off into the grass of the outfield. She was already rounding first and headed for second base when the ball came to a stop, just short of reaching the fence in left field. One of the outfielders, or maybe an infielder who had chased the ball to the outfield, picked it up and threw it in the general direction of the infield, and Braxten had just scored her best hit of the season.
This was one of the longest hit balls by any of the kids on her team for the entire season, and if she hadn’t already earned the nickname “Slugger” this hit would have been enough to gain her that name.
She finished the game and walked off the field, with the brightest smile I have ever seen. I was so proud of her I thought my heart would burst, and all it took was for me to see the look of sheer joy and satisfaction on her face and I knew this little girl, this wonder of a child who came into this world at just over four pounds, was destined for greatness.
I honestly believe that, and it means all of the times we did what she wanted us to do was justified, because she has been worth it all.
As her grandfather, and especially because of my age and the state of my health, there is very little I either need or want from life. I am content to write my stories and to watch all of my grandchildren grow. If I am closer to this little jewel of a girl, it is because she has lived with us most of her life, and I have watched her grow every day. I have seen her grow from the four-pound preemie into the strong and gifted little girl the rest of the boys and girls on her T-Ball team call “Slugger.”
I think she will be a slugger all of her life, regardless of what she decides to do or where the roads may take her, and I truly hope I am around to watch her travel the first few miles down her own path.
So, I’m putting the world on notice right now. Look out world, in another few years, a true slugger will be having a go at you, and I don’t think there is anything that anyone can throw at her that will keep her from winning the game.
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Thanks for purchasing this Smashwords enovel, and I want to personally say I hope you enjoyed it, and that you might have even learned a bit from it.
About E. DON HARPE
Award winning author E. DON HARPE has had a varied career, from military service in the 60’s to years spent as an industrial engineer for a major appliance firm. Harpe is a songwriter who has had many of his songs recorded, and who for years ran his own music publishing company. While in Nashville Harpe was the office manager of a publishing company that had several number one country music hits, and was also the Creative Director for Climbing Country, one of the most successful syndicated radio programs of the early 90’s. During this time he won the coveted Silver Pen Award from the Nashville Banner daily newspaper.
Since retiring from public work in 2004, Harpe has concentrated on writing novels, and 2011 will see his fourth and fifth books published. He also has nearly 40 short stories available on line, including two in an anthology called Twisted Tails II, published by Double Dragon Publishing, which won the EPPIE AWARD for best science fiction anthology of 2007.
His book of memoirs, THE LAST OF THE SOUTH TOWN RINKY DINKS, published in September of 2008, was an instant success with friends and readers alike. The stories are touching, down to earth tales of small town America, and will bring tears and laughter to all who can remember when the world was a kinder, simpler place. It’s the kind of book that you won’t want to put down, and one that you will re-read many times over the years.
Now retired and living in South Georgia, Harpe devotes his time to Helen, his wife of 45 years, to his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, and to his writing.
“I’m pretty satisfied in my own skin right now,” Harpe says, “and I just want to continue to write things that will entertain and hold the readers interest.”
Connect with me on the Internet at my website, as well as on Facebook and other social networks.
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