Read the story of the three mice brothers reading The Night Before Christmas on Christmas Eve. Will they finish the book before Santa comes?
February 14th, the universal day of love. HA! The day when all the people who are in a relationship expect to be loved more than they have already been all year-long. The day when single people curse the couples for having a love day and often times, curse the people in a relationship for being in a relationship.
It’s a day of pure commercialism, stupidity, and anger. It’s a day that causes people to go to bed angry after fighting with their significant other because they didn’t get the biggest and best gift that even Donald Trump couldn’t afford to give. By the way, Donald Trump is a rich guy and sure looks like a sourpuss, therefore I conclude that money cannot, does not, and never will buy happiness. LOL (Lighten up people, you know my sense of humor by now.)
I have to admit; I too, have occasionally fallen into the trap of Valentine’s Day. I am a romantic and I am sort of an old school kind of gal. I like to be wooed and I enjoy immensely, reading words of adoration from my sweet, even if his English is less than clear. Full boxes of innumerable cards adorn my room from days of yore. (Say that 3 times fast.)
On top of my obvious romantic nature, I am also a pack rat… a weepy-eyed, sentimental, clinger to all things given in the name of love… pack rat. In the 17 years I’ve been with my husband, I have never thrown away a single card. Not a birthday, anniversary, Valentine’s Day, sympathy, congratulations, etc… card from him or to him. I have never thrown away a single card or letter from anyone I have ever known in these last 18-19 years of my life. I also have the occasional never been mailed card or letter. Like for instance, I bought a get well card for my grandmother and before I could send it we moved to Chicago and that weekend we visited her and a few days later she passed away. The card brings tears to my eyes every time I come across it. I am such an emotional sap aren’t I…
When my husband and I were freshly engaged in 1994, he chose the day of lovers to be our wedding day. Not our first Valentine’s Day as a couple in 1995 but, the one afterwards in 1996. Of course, I said yes. Who could say no to a man who wants to make you his bride for life on the most passionate day of the year? My mother warned against it. She told me of the doom and gloom and the death of all things happy and sunshiney if I were to get married on that day. She wished I would reconsider before we got married and ended up divorcing, consequently ruining the day for me forever in the future. Why? Because she had married my father on that day and look what happened to their love. Honestly, who could argue with that? But, did I listen? Hell no I didn’t. Why on Earth would I listen to my mother when I was a grown ass 19-year-old?!
A week or two before Valentine’s Day of 1996 was upon us, I dug in the local phone book and started calling chapels to get married in. I don’t know what possessed me to do that or to think that money was of no object. I was the mother of a 3 month old daughter, my husband was barely working, and we lived with my mother, my brother, and my great-uncle. We were pulling our weight of course with bills but, still. We were a young couple with no bank account or vehicle, needless to say we were broke. But, there I was 20 years old fully expecting the fairytale wedding I had been promised. (click on fairytale to read more about my fairytale love) I finally found a chapel in Las Vegas that wasn’t completely booked and expecting thousands of dollars and I yelled out, “SOLD!!!” I didn’t ask my husband. I didn’t consult anyone in my family, just booked it and awaited the glorious day.
St. Valentine’s Day; February 14th, 1996: I got up bright and early with my husband who was getting ready for work. “AHEM. Do you know what today is?” I asked beaming from ear to ear. “No.” he replied. “No? Umm, well…it’s Valentine’s Day silly.” I replied. “Oh…” he whispered. So I pushed further. “Well, I booked a chapel for us to get married today at –:– pm in _____ chapel.” (Clearly the insanity of it all back then made me forget the details today.) I stated, still smiling big. I must have checked out mentally because I don’t remember what he said to me. All I know is I spent the day dressing up my baby girl and myself and waiting for him to come home and keep his promise.
As the day dragged on I decided to make a cake. A heart-shaped cake, of course. I mixed it, baked it, cut it into a heart, frosted it, and waited. And waited… and waited. It was nearly midnight when my husband to be came home. I stood there in tears and didn’t say a word. He put an unsigned card on the countertop in front of me and walked into the kitchen and proceeded to eat the cake I had made for us. He was drunk! Finally he got the balls to look up at me, while I was still crying, and said quietly, “I’m sorry.” I was traumatized!!! I should have slept the entire day away instead.
It came down to embarrassment, guilt, and a few words that obviously were screwing with his head. At some point in the year and 5 months we had been together, my father had quoted words straight out of the ‘Handbook of Shit a Person Should Never Say!’ He said: “He’s ONLY marrying you to get his papers!” Excuse me, WHAT?!?! That same man who uttered those demonic words, Hell bent to hurt me and my partner, was the same man who a couple of years before was telling me to hurry up and set a date to marry a man who asked me to marry him (and I might add we found out shortly afterwards that he was already married with two children, one born while we were dating.), because time was running short between my father being able to pay for my wedding and paying for my sister’s graduation the following year. He is also the same man who ruined his own first marriage by committing adultery over and over and over and over. Yet, my sweet… my love… my daughter’s father… the man who has taken care of me since January of 1995… was using me to get papers?! Even though the man already had a legal green card 7 years before we met. Talk about an asshole move by someone who is supposed to love you unconditionally. Thanks again daddy dearest!
My husband and I finally did get married though and not on Valentine’s Day. And the father of the bride didn’t pay a damn red-cent of it neither! My husband chose to pick another day that could potentially ruin all of my future happiness if we ever divorced, and that day is my birthday. Sheesh!
So there you have it, my crappy Valentine’s Day story. And ever since then; Valentine’s Day has been just another day for my family. Just another day for my husband and I to end up in an argument caused by just another day of pressure, stress, and lack of money. And it’s just another day for my children and I to express our love for one another; by making cards, cooking, eating together, and doing what we three do every day… spend the day together and love one another unconditionally for all that we are, all that we can be, and all that we will be!
And you my loves? Who will you be loving on this day?
And because it’s also YouTube Tuesday… Here you go,
mis amores! ❤
Elvis Presley – Ku-Ui-Po
Ku-u-i-po I love you more today
More today than yesterday
But I love you less today
Less than I will tomorrow
See the sweet Hawaiian rose
See it blossom see it grow
That’s the story of our love
Ever since we said hello
As the years go passing by
We’ll recall our wedding day
I will be there by your side
You will always hear me say
Ku-u-i-po, you’re my Hawaiian sweetheart
I support it every year and this year it holds even more significance than it did in previous years.
In February of this year, my younger sister was diagnosed with Stage 4 Breast Cancer and three days later she died. So of course that makes me more active in Breast Cancer Awareness, not just because I have lost my sister to it but, because I truly understand how the unthinkable can hit and penetrate your seemingly perfect life. After her death and I could finally face the world again, I started connecting with Breast Cancer battler’s (this just means that they are still battling this heinous disease.) and survivors.
My heart goes out to every one of them even though my sister never even had a chance to battle the beast. I have set up a challenge on Facebook as an event and would greatly appreciate if you would join and pass it on. If I have learned anything in this past few months is that life is more precious than you could ever possibly imagine.
Facebook Events Basics:
I would like all of you who join the event to have something pink visible on your person all month-long in October. The details are on the event so please check that out and join in on spreading more awareness for this horrific disease. Thank you.
Now for the exciting blogger’s news:
I was asked to be a Breast Cancer Awareness Spokeswoman for Blognostics, this site is a new site and was created by bloggers for bloggers. They will be running a contest for Breast Cancer Awareness that will begin on Oct. 1 and go through Oct.31, 2011.
Blognostics Contest Details:
Tell a story about how Breast Cancer has affected you and/or the person diagnosed, also how it has changed your life and/or theirs for better or worse. The story can be your own personal story, a friend, or a family member. It does have to be someone who you know personally, even if it’s just someone you know from a social network. But, they do have to be someone you have personal contact with.
Blognostics will also be asking for donations in the amounts of $1, $5, $10 or more to be donated to the organization that the 1st place winner chooses out of the four that Blognostics has available. Consider the donation to be not only useful for the organization and the people they help but, also a small contest entry fee. Donate what you can!
This contest is open to all bloggers. The only thing that you have to do is be a member of Blognostics, and to be a member you must have a blog. If you would like to take part please go to the site and make your account.
Here is what you will be doing:
-If your blog is a writing one than you will write a story, fiction not accepted (sorry but we want real life stories only), about the person that you have chosen. Tell us their/your story of being afflicted with Breast Cancer and how it has changed them and/or you.
-If you are a poet you can write a poem about the person you have chosen.
-If you are a photographer you can tell the story with photos. Use a photo of the person and whatever other photos you feel tell the story of how their having Breast Cancer affected you. You can write a story as well but, your main goal is to tell it with photos.
-If you are an artist who draws or paints, you will be submitting your original work of art that is either the person themselves or your interpretation of Breast Cancer. Please write something about the art piece so we can understand fully the meaning of it.
All contest entries should include the date when the person was diagnosed, how they battled it, if they are still battling or are now in remission, how many times they have battled it, any organization that they went through for help, and if they died, (R.I.P.) the day their suffering ended.
Blognostics is offering 3 prizes; 1st place, 2nd place, and 3rd place. All which include small ad space for a month on their site. 1st place winners will receive the honor of choosing the Breast Cancer organization that will receive the donations and their name will also be on the check that is presented with all of the donations raised. 1st place winners will also receive a small banner on the Blognostics site to place their ad for one month.
All entries must be in by October 31, 2011 before midnight in your time zone. Blognostics will choose and notify the winners during the first week of November.
So what are you waiting for? Go sign up on Blogsnostics if you aren’t already a member and let’s raise awareness for Breast Cancer. Don’t forget to join the Facebook event as well. If you have any questions please ask me or the Blognostics team. Thank you and good luck.
Stuart Nager gave me a challenge: “My prompt to you: First line: “The heat has fried my brain and I can’t think.” Choose to write from one of these three genres: Sci Fi, Paranormal Romance, or Action/Adventure. Include, in what you write, the words: Angel, Stars, Kiss, Time, Button, Message. No more than 1,000 words. No less than 400. Good luck.”
*Note: I want you all to know this is my first fictional story to be posted, so please critique away but, be gentle and caring because after all my fragile ego is at your fingers mercy. Hope you enjoy it, we will see if I write others based on feedback. By the way there is adult language i.e cursing in this, so if you’re offended don’t read it. Thank you and have a lovely Wednesday.*
“The heat has fried my brain and I can’t think. Why are we out here in the middle of Hell again?”Bob gasped. “You’re such a fucking pansy Bob. Suck it up princess, the time would pass much faster if you’d stopped whining like a bitch!” Ted replied angrily.
Bob and Ted were hiking in Nevada near Area 52. Ted had dragged Bob out on another one of his senseless buried treasure adventures. It was Mid-July and the desert sun was beating down on them from every imaginable angle.
“I’m thirsty” squawked Bob, halting dead in his tracks.
Ted kept walking oblivious to Bob’s all too familiar cries for constant pampering and attention.
Suddenly Ted stopped, “don’t mooo…”
“Don’t moo? What the hell would I moo for?” Bob yelled from a few feet back, breaking the awkward silence.
Ted was in a zone while his eyes scanned frantically from the west to the east. He then abruptly spun around, eyes still scanning the horizon.
“What are you looking for?” Bob asked
“A fucking McDonald’s Bob. I want a goddamn Big Mac, is that ok with you?” Ted retorted while shaking his head. “Fucking idiot” Ted said under his breath.
“No need to be rude,” Bob responded.
Whatever Ted had been focused on had drifted out of sight much like a passing tumbleweed. “Must be this damn heat.” Ted thought.
No longer feeling threatened; Ted hiked on. Bob realizing he was being left behind soon followed suit. “Can we stop now Ted?” Bob inquired. “No!” Ted said. “I’m really tired though Ted.” Bob replied. “Say one more fucking word Bob and I will cut out your fucking tongue!!!” Ted exclaimed. “But…” before Bob could finish his sentence Ted yanked out his hunting knife and darted towards Bob. “SAY SOMETHING!” Ted demanded.
Bob put his hand to his lips, making a gesture as if he was fastening a button.
Ted placed a kiss on his knife blade before putting it away; “works every time,” he thought. Ted looked at the sky, “It will be getting dark in a few hours. We should only have a few more miles to go before reaching our destination.” Bob must have been scared stiff because for 5 miles he didn’t say one word. Finally Ted stopped, saying “I think this is the spot.” “Bob hand me the shovel and pick-axe.” Ted growing impatient screamed, “BOB GIVE ME THE FUCKING SHIT NOW!!” Whipping around ready to slap him, Ted discovered that Bob was nowhere to be seen. “Where the Hell is that pansy?” Ted grumbled.
Ted’s eye’s scanned the horizon again… nothing. Then he caught something out of the corner of his eye, it wasn’t Bob. Ted turned his head, faced forward and came face to chest with something huge and green and just plain strange. “What the…who the… oooh myyyy God, what are youuuu?” Ted stuttered while stumbling back several feet.
Ted had not found what he was looking for instead he had found a giant green man; an alien. The alien looked at Ted and reached out its hand, holding something pinkish red. Ted stepped closer to see what it was. “Oh my God, is that a tongue? Is that Bob’s tongue?” Ted cried out, stumbling backwards again and this time falling to the ground.
Closing his eyes, Ted thought to himself, “when I open my eyes it will be gone and Bob will be standing there laughing his fat ass off at me. 1, 2, 3.” Ted opened his eyes and rubbed them roughly, to his dismay there were now three more aliens standing there; all of them holding something. “Jesus fucking Christ!!!” Ted shrieked. One alien still held Bob’s tongue, one held Bob’s head, and the other two were holding Bob’s torso and his limbs. Ted got up slowly hoping the aliens wouldn’t come any closer, as soon as he got to his feet he took off running in the opposite direction.
Ted ran and ran until he collapsed from exhaustion and passed out on the hot desert sand. “Ted Billings? Theodore Angel Billings?” a voice called out. Ted tried to sit up; a hand reached out and helped him. Ted screamed, thinking it was the aliens finally catching up to him. It was dark; Ted couldn’t see anything, except the bright lights shining and four silvery stars shoved in his face. “What’s going on? How did you find me? Where’s Bob?” Ted questioned the men in front of him. “Bob is right where you left him.” one officer replied.
“The aliens chopped him up into pieces and tried to offer him to me.” Ted stammered, tears streaming down his face. “Mr. Billings you need to come with us, we have a lot to discuss.” The man replied. “But, how did you find me?” Ted inquired again.
“We found Bob and your message led us to you. Mr. Billings you had spelled Ted with Bob’s body parts.” the officer said.
“It wasn’t me. I am innocent. It was…THE ALIENS!!!!” echoed Ted as the police put him in the back of the squad car.
When I sat down and wrote the poem ‘Nobody’s Birthday’ all I could think was how my birthday has sucked since 1997 when my husband decided it would be a “great” idea for us to wed that day.
In an emotional fit of jealousy and anger he had finally realized that calling me his wife for 3 years before we were actually married was not the brightest idea… only because I was getting more and more aggravated with it. I figured if I was to be strapped with the title of wife I should at least have the document proving it.
You see when my husband and I were merely boyfriend and girlfriend he fell in love and proposed, I obviously wasn’t against it because I said yes and of course I loved him too.
The date he chose for us to get married was February 14th, 1996, a year and 5 months after we had begun dating. In February of 1995, we found out we were expecting and I guess that might have been the moment when things started falling apart…it was in my screwed up head anyway.
You see I had this idea of how a relationship and love should be; funny because I didn’t exactly grow up around any stable loving relationships in my life, so where I got that idea from I will never know… maybe it was The Brady Bunch or The Cosby Show.
For years I have held it against him that we never got married on the day we were suppose to and as the world will tell you… Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned and I was scorned. It always
made me madmade me furious that he chose not to marry me on that date simply because of a few words my callous father had said about him… “He’s only marrying you to get his papers.” Which was a fabrication that he had created in his own mind, for my husband already had papers 7 years before even knowing me. So not only was that comment a lie and unnecessary it was clearly meant to hurt me and my relationship.
But, every month that passed that I was not married I was told the most horrendous things by people who claimed to love me because I was an unwed mother.
You just have to love family whose ideas and warped sense of love taints perfectly loving relationships. I loved him and he loved me, we were faithful and raising our daughter together as a married couple…what more could a piece of paper give us?!
Those depraved mental games eventually infected my brain, as I began to wonder why we were still not married 3 years after our relationship began. So in a last dire attempt to rescue what was left of our relationship he married me, on my birthday. He was drunk out of his mind and couldn’t repeat the vows; I was angry in every one of our wedding pictures and was trying to hold back impending tears. It was the beginning of me dreading my birthday.
Year after year passed and more than not I would end the day upset and in tears because it seemed like nobody cared that it was my “special” day. No gifts, no cards, occasionally a cake and a happy birthday. The kids would do their best to make up for my sadness by showering me with several homemade cards and as much as I loved them it just never felt like enough. Call me selfish but, I wanted to be appreciated and pampered just for that one day.
There came a point when not only was it my birthday that went uncelebrated but, Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day and Christmas too. Now instead of hating just my birthday I began hating the entire year; day after day, month after month, year after year. My husband would always say, “It’s just another day.” God, how I hated hearing that!!!
Then this year as my birthday approached; I became melancholy just like I do every year, knowing it wouldn’t be any different. We were still struggling with extra money and as usual I would get the short end of the stick; that’s where my poem came in to play.
Instead something happened…something magical and unexpected. It occurred to me that this year was different from all the other years because I WAS DIFFERENT. I had accomplished many things this year that I didn’t even know I wanted to carry out until they happened. Clearly my mind was holding a secret that my heart hadn’t uncovered until a few days before my birthday. Nobody’s Birthdayis a sad, depressing poem but, it unlocked my ability to see what truly mattered this year…my life; every single day of it not just the one day that comes and goes.
I am a mom, a writer and a friend and every day of my life I show exceptional love, kindness and understanding towards my friends, family and fellow writers. Some may not have seen that and that’s ok because frankly they hadn’t seen anything I have said or accomplished in quite some time now. I have made leaps and bounds in my personal life as well as my professional life in 5 short months; my hard work was finally paying off and that my dear readers is something I never expected to see this year.
Needless to say, I had a great birthday because instead of expecting others to celebrate me… I celebrated me, something I have never done in my entire 36 years of life. I am proud of myself.
Isn’t it wonderful when you finally appreciate yourself for who you are and what you’ve accomplished? Did you find out something about yourself this year? Are you proud of who you’ve become?
When I was about 13 years old we spent our usual court appointed three weeks during the summer at my mom’s house. Mom was working during the day so she decided to drop Jess, Rion and me off at her aunt’s house; good ol Aunt Janet, my grandmother’s younger sister.
I grew up around my aunt on and off during my life but, mostly it was when I was younger because we lived a couple of blocks away from her in Flint. When I got older my aunt became disabled and was in a wheelchair for many years from diabetes and her plethora of other medical conditions. Although she was fairly sick most of the time that I was ever around her, she never failed to crack us up when we visited. We would spend hours listening to her talk about her youth and all her comical adventures. Some of them seemed too funny to be true but, we never called her a liar because the stories were definitely side-splitting hilarious and we were just children so who were we to say they didn’t happen.
On one particular day we; Jess, Rion, Aunt Janet and I were all sitting in the kitchen at the table talking and eating ice cream. After awhile Aunt Janet tells us this one story that I will always remember for the rest of my life; here is what she said…
“When I was a girl I went out on a date with this nice Italian gangster, he picked me up and we went to his family’s restaurant for dinner; I had spaghetti. Time seemed to fly by while talking with him and his family. At one point the conversation became so intriguing that I forgot about my spaghetti, I was just winding and winding and winding it around my fork and when I lifted my fork to take a bite… there was no pasta on my plate, it was all on the fork!!! It was the size of a baseball.”
My siblings and I busted out laughing…my aunt knew how to tell a story and her facial expressions along with her hand gestures were downright entertaining. She had been twisting her hand like she was actually winding the spaghetti on the fork and her mouth dropped open as she lifted her hand to her face.
I am very fortunate to have spent quite a bit of time with my Aunt Janet before she passed away in 2001. Every time I eat spaghetti I recant the story she told us and laugh half way through dinner!! And don’t even get me started singing that parody song of On Top of Old Smokey. LOL
Once upon a time in the far off land known as Las Vegas; lived a Prince, Luis and his future wife Princess Jenni.
Princess Jenni was 19 years old and Prince Luis was 26.
They were madly in love but, their families were from different backgrounds making for a forbidden love. But, just as Romeo loved his fair Juliet; Luis refused to be without his Jenni.
They lived in different castles in the vast kingdom of neon lights, showgirls and Elvis impersonators. But, they were so in love and would sneak off to spend many a night together in a secret inn (apartment) where they could dream of their future together.
The Prince and Princess would drink beer and Tequila, laugh and forget all about their duties as future King and Queen. But, responsibility was lurking and their way of life was soon to be altered for better or worse.
Then one day, their parents uncovered their secret and banished both of them from the kingdom. Prince Luis and Princess Jenni were no longer royalty; they were now lowly commoners forced to provide for themselves.
This was new to them but, their love would see them through any hardships they were to face. Luis began working in construction to build huts for the peons and Jenni stayed at home and cleaned their hovel. She was inexperienced at this job but, she tried her hardest to build a happy home for them.
The peon formerly known as Prince Luis, needed clean clothes to wear to work; so Jenni got their clothes together, grabbed a box of soap and a pocketful of pence and down she went into the hovel’s broom closet. There she found two pieces of machinery; “Hark!” she exclaimed “What in great Merlin’s name are these?”
Jenni stared at the peculiar looking machines but, figured she’d give it a try; so she opened the lid to one of them. One good thing about growing up royalty is that Jenni could read and the machine had words written all over it; making it somewhat simpler to know what to do.
Placing the clothes in the machine labeled ‘Washing Machine’ and throwing a scoop of soap in she then turned the dials; one to hot and one to heavy-duty wash. Since there were only the two of them Jenni tossed both of their clothes in the machine together; something she would undoubtedly regret later on.
When at long last the machine stopped, Jenni pulled the clothes out of the washing machine and placed them in the other. This machine looked similar yet different from the first, the door was not at the top but, Jenni was so excited that she had operated the first machine she knew she could use the second one. Jenni turned the dials once again, one to high heavy and one to timed drying which she set at 60.
Finally the machine was done and when Jenni took the clothes out she was taken aback; Luis’s white jeans had blue and green marks all over them. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. Looking through the clothes she found that her green shorts and her blue shorts had somehow transferred on to the white pants.
Luis came home to find Jenni weeping. She explained to him what had happened, Luis was very understanding. He knew that Jenni didn’t know how to do laundry. Needless to say, this first experience at doing laundry was not a good one but; Jenni did end up with a new pair of pants.
Luis gave Jenni a hug, kissed her forehead and inquired,” What’s for dinner?”
Looking around Jenni replied, “All we have is tortillas and ice.”
“ICE TACOS” Jenni declared and then busted out laughing, Luis began laughing with her.
Now every time there is no food to be found in their house and someone asks what’s for dinner, the answer is always Ice Tacos.
It will take a while before Jenni learns how to do laundry correctly and how to cook but, one day she will make a damn fine hovelmaker.
And they lived commonly ever after. The End
I am the oldest girl in my family; my father had three daughters and always yearned for a son.
Naturally, it became my job to carry out his fantasy. Believe me when I say, I would have much rather been taught how to be a girl but, it just wasn’t in the cards for me.
From the time I could walk I had a baseball in my hand, pretty strange for a little girl but, dad for some twisted reason needed me to play the son role.
My sister who was two years younger than me, got to play girl, in some ways I envy that but, in other ways I don’t. Since I was daddy’s little boy, I learned how to play sports like a boy.
There was no girl who played baseball like I played baseball. I could throw hard and far, I could hit any kind of pitch thrown at me and I could switch hit. Those of you who know nothing about baseball; switch hitting is when you hit right-handed then switch to hitting left-handed or vice versa. Being, ambidextrous, I have always excelled with either hand.
As I got older I started playing softball because that was what “girls” played and even though I was good at it, it was not baseball. I spent my days practicing; throwing, catching and batting. Dad had a wooden bat I practiced with; it was heavy but, if I could swing that and hit the ball, just imagine what I would do with a light-weight aluminum bat.
Every weekend during the summer when dad would come home from work, we would go up to the park for baseball practice. Dad would pitch and I would hit and then we would switch. I could strike dad out several times while playing; my sports abilities were the only thing I received praise for.
The thing I can say about dad teaching me to play baseball is I played like a man; both dad and I could hit damn near any kind of pitch, including ones you would never swing at if you were playing in the Major League. If the ball was within arm reach we would swing at it. It was all in fun and kept our talent at maximum peak.
One day the family went up to the park and played our usual game of baseball. I was pitching, my step-mom was catching, my sisters were in the outfield and dad was batting. He managed to hit a few of my pitches then all of a sudden, I throw this one pitch that maybe dad shouldn’t have swung at. In fact, I know he should NEVER have swung at that. Dad managed to tip the ball with the bat and we all stood shocked as the ball circled high in the sky and CRASHED right into the windshield of his car that was parked on the other side of the fence. It took a few moments and finally dad laughed; “Look what you did.” he told me. “What?! I didn’t hit it.” I replied. Dad never parked that close to the fence ever again.
I can honestly say this is a happy memory from my childhood and I am ok with being treated like a boy so I could have the excellent baseball playing skills I posess. There are many things I might change from back then if I could but, this gift I wouldn’t change for anything.