catch

Yesterday, we stopped by my parent’s place on our way back from LA. I took my usual place on the couch with my dog. My dad and brother opened up some beers, and we all watched the second half of the Dodgers vs. Cubs game on ESPN while my mom made dinner.

James Loney stepped up to bat. I asked Jared and Jay why a left-handed batter has a disadvantage with a left-handed pitcher. They started to explain, but stopped when they noticed the glazed over look in my eyes.

Jared picked up a baseball. (There is always a baseball to pick up at my parent’s house.) He motioned for Jay to get up. Jay took a batting stance. Jared showed me that left handed batters hitting against a left handed pitcher has a disadvantage of a fraction of a second.

Made sense. I focused my attention back to the game. Millie, my dog, who was watching the baseball Jared in his hand, dug her head back in my lap when it occurred to her it wasn’t one of her chew toys.

James got out of his room, as if sensing Jay and Jared were playing catch. He put his mitt on, and encouraged them to do the same. All three boys escaped to the backyard. Millie trailed behind them.

My dad and I were left on the couch. We discussed everything from the All-Star Game and how Manny shouldn’t play even if he’s voted in, to how we’re both rooting for Randy Johnson and his 300th win. My mom yelled at me to help her with dinner. My dad yelled back that he was discussing important matters with his daughter.

As we watched Brad Ausmus get hit by a pitch, we heard a loud THUD from the backyard. Not skipping a beat, my dad yelled through the window.

“Don’t let me hammer in another piece of the fence,” my dad said in Tagalog. He told me how much he hated patching up the pieces of the wood fence in the back that my brothers destroyed while paying catch.

Jay ran through the living room. I started laughing as he made his way through the door.

“What did you guys do?” I asked, much to my father’s dismay.

“Nothing,” said Jay, out of breath. “Jared just threw a ball over the fence.”

My dad let out an exasperated breath.

James snuck in the living room, trying his best to avoid my dad’s glare. He disappeared in the room for a while. Jay came back with the retrieved baseball. My dad and I went back to the game. No one was really paying attention, though. Not even the announcers. It was the bottom of the 7th and the Dodgers were up 8-2.

James walked out of his room, trying to conceal the baseball bat behind him.

“What are you doing?” my dad asked.

James held up the bat proudly.

“No, no,” said my dad. “Don’t use that thing in the backyard.”

James dropped his shoulders and stuck out his upper lip. Something he’d perfected being the youngest child. “I’m not going to use it, Dad. I’m just going to stand there.”

My dad just looked at him blankly.

“Jay is throwing balls and strikes. I’m just going to stand there with the bat so he knows where to throw.”

Reluctantly, my dad allowed it.

But secretly, I think my dad enjoys it. All of it.

Another THUD from the backyard. The game evolved from ‘James Just Standing While Jay Throws Balls and Strikes’ quickly evolved into ‘Let’s Teach James How to Bunt.’

I laughed to myself, and watched the last part of the game.