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September 23, 2005

Michele: Father's Day

In the two seconds it took for the ball to leave the pitcher’s mitt, sail toward the plate and arrive in front of him, he mentally shooed away the taunting images of past strike outs and pop-ups, and shouts of “Failure!” that took on the voice of his father.

He swung the bat with the ferocity of escaped anger.

The crack of the bat and the way his legs felt as they carried him safely to first base exhilarated him.

Standing on first, he looked to where his father was cheering wildly. All he could think was “Fuck you, dad.”

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