“Miles, where is your baseball glove?”
“It’s there. Somewhere. In that bag. Somewhere. It’s got to be here.”
“Miles, it’s not here.”
I dropped off his baseball bat, his sport coat, his tie and my baseball glove. Took a deep breath, expressed my exasperation – briefly – and turned around. Forty-five minutes back to Catchers U where Miles had a hitting clinic. Before the hitting clinic, I thought it would be useful – and fun – to have a catch on a dead-end street and turn-around cul-de-sac. He yanked the first three throws, party Randy Johnson, part Mitch Williams. Then settled down and threw about 30 balls. Nice. That’s when the trouble started.
With new turf shoes and recent rain, Miles tried to pry the mud off with an ice scraper, then used the ShamWow from the trunk. Then he tied his turf shoes and that’s when the problems started.
“I must have set it down when I tied my shoes.”
A call to my sister Sheila, just to catch up, and half an episode of How I Built This podcast with Fanatics founder Michael Rubin and I was back at the cul-de-sac and there was the glove, lonely in the grass under a no parking sign. Like a Norman Rockwell painting.
The second half of the podcast and I was home.
Annie made a beautiful dinner, pork tenderloin, broccoli and couscous. As Miles went to bed, he thanked me for getting the glove.
“Thanks Dad.”
Then I asked him the question.
“You know what I’m going to say…”
“You’re a very reasonable father.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too. Dad.”
