“Wait. Dad couldn’tslide?”
She laughs. “Are you kidding me? That man can do a lot of things, but he wasn’t much of an athlete.”
“Well, sure, because he got hurt,” I say. My entire childhood waspredicated upon the notion that I was supposed to live out the big dream of going pro because my dad watched his shot go up in smoke when he tore his ACL.
“Honey, he will tell that story until he’s dead and gone. About his great big missed opportunity and all that.” She puts the wordsmissed opportunityin air quotes.
My eyebrows stitch together, wondering what she’s talking about.
“Daddy tore his ACL running to an accounting class in college. He woke up late for his final.”
I audibly gasp. “Stop lying,” I say.
“I’m not surprised he never told you. It’s the same reason we never talked about my big win in college.”
“What big win?” I ask.
“Honey,” she says. “When you’re married, sometimes you learn to leave well enough alone. But you know I played softball in college.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Well, look up the 1982 UCLA Bruins softball team when you have a chance,” she says with a wink. Then she trots over to Daisy, and I hear her ask something about a shoe size.
Rachel supplies Mom with Nike running shoes in her size. (Thankfully, Rachel brought cleats today.) We get Mom an extra shirt from Gordy’s bag, which she slips on over her blouse, and she gets my dad’s glove, which is still sitting in the grass in the outfield. She trades in the sun hat for an extra flat brim that Dom wore to the field.
“Yo, bro, I’m not sure how I feel about yourmomwearing my lucky hat,” he says to me.
The black baseball cap hasFBI: Fat Booty Inspectorstitched on it in white.
“Yeah, you and me both, dude,” I reply.
I ask her where she feels most comfortable playing and she offers totake Gordy’s position at second base. “Better to keep me in the infield,” she suggests. “I don’t know if I can track fly balls anymore.”
The end of game one is a sight to behold. A grounder is hit straight to my mom, and she fields it super clean, with the flawless mechanics of an experienced ballplayer. It’s the third out for Dr. Murvin’s Magic Feet. “Just like riding a bicycle,” she whispers to me on our way back to the bench.
The second game ends within an hour after we mercy-rule Dr. Murvin and his bush-league crew of bunions and hammertoes. Something about playing without my dad and Gordy around gives everyone the chance to loosen up a little and have some fun. We all rally around my mother. Even Courtney laughs when Ma says, “Those Murvin boys are as crusty as an ingrown toenail.”
Later on, after I drop Ma off at home and share the entire story with Gracie over the phone, I type1982 UCLA Bruins Softballinto my Google search bar. The first result is an article from theL.A. Times. The title reads, “Inaugural NCAA WCWS Crowns UCLA Bruins Women’s Softball Champs.” I read on to learn that my mother was a catcher in the first ever NCAA-sponsored Women’s College World Series—and her team won.
You were one hell of a ringer today, I text her.
Now you know where you get your athletic prowess from, she writes back with a winky-face emoji.But don’t mention it to your dad!
Secret’s safe with me, Fat Booty Inspector! (Lol!)
Never call me that again, she says.
I laugh so hard that I almost start to cry.
Gracie
It’s Monday morning. A new week! Gracie 3.0 laces up her sneakers. Grace with a boyfriend. And not justanyboyfriend.Theboyfriend, I think, as I grab my headphones and head downstairs.
That’s right! It’s happening! I’m going for a jog!
Well, maybe not ajog. But a walk, at the very least. Walks are healthy! And it’s a beautiful day outside! The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. I got laid this weekend by the man of my dreams and I! Am! Radiant!
I’ve got a spring in my step, good tunes in my ears, and energy to burn. I walk down to Emmons Avenue, past the fishing boats, the party boats, and the random men with buckets and crab traps trying their luck in the water. I walk over the footbridge and down to Manhattan Beach. I stroll along the sand and come back up through the playground, smiling at the little ones as they joyfully chase one another down the slide and into the sand pit. I marvel at the clear blue sky and the emissions from an airplane painting a thin streak of white clouds across it.Every day should be this glorious,I decide.
