When you are done. . .
"How about if you keep teaching me about gardening and I'll teach
you how to throw, catch, and hit?"
"Okay."
"Here, hold my bat, no like this," you reach around him and
show him how to angle the bat, and where to put his hands so he'll
have more control.
"Whoa, this feels wierd," he says.
"Ok, I'm going to throw the ball to you, keep your eyes open, and
keep them on the ball, when it reaches about here," you gesture
in front of his face, "I want you to swing, 'K?"
"OK." He grips the bat a little tighter, his knuckles are
turning white.
"Don't hold it so tight, stay relaxed." You toss the ball to
him, he swings, and WHACK! the bat connects with the ball, and the
ball . . . CRASH!
"Uh-oh," Johnny says, "Grouchy old Minker's gonna be
mad.
"No he won't you say, come on,"
The two of you head up Mr. Minker's steps, you ring the door bell.
"Aren't you scared?" asks Johnny.
"Nope, just wait."
"Well, hello *Your Name Here*, were you playing ball in the
backyard again?"
"Yes, Granps, I was teaching Johnny how to hit, and he's teaching
me how to plant zuccini."
"Here's your ball, How 'bout going to the park, next time?"
he says.
"Ok, we will, are you gonns tell dad about the window?"
"Not this time, let's keep it our little secret." He winks
at you and shuts the door.
"I didn't know he was your Grandfather," says Johnny.
"He's not, I just call him that, he's got the coolest baseball,
stuff. He's even got a ball signed by Babe Ruth."
"Really?"
"Yep," you say, "Let's go practice in the park, you've
got an awesome swing."
planing the zuccini, you ask him if he will play baseball with him now
that you are done in the garden. He says "I don't like to play
'cuz I don't throw or cach good, and I can't hit the ball
neither."
