That was the last time I wore a uniform; I never joined anything again, no church, no guild, no movement. Never played on a team the state of California did not require me to. Was my retreat from Scouting, from sport, a failure to persevere or an early triumph of self-knowledge? I prefer to think the latter, but who knows?
Many years after my Little League season in hell, I was on tour in a rock band (the only sort and size of group in which I'm really comfortable) whose leader had brought along a baseball and bat; others brought mitts. And in the spirit of togetherness, I bought the first mitt I'd owned in a quarter of a century, and discovered belatedly the joy of unorganized sports. We played whenever there was time and a field. I found I could hit, I could catch, I could sort of throw. It felt like a happy ending to a story I'd thought was already, unsatisfactorily, finished. Then our van was broken into, and all the ballplaying gear was stolen. I won't say I took it as a sign, but I never did buy another mitt.
Now Trending
-
Voice Places
Find everything you're looking for in your city
-
Happy Hour App
Find the best happy hour deals in your city
-
Daily Deals
Get today's exclusive deals at savings of anywhere from 50-90%
-
Best Of...
Check out the hottest list of places and things to do around your city
- Profile
- Newsletters
- Mobile
- Logout
