I have never been a very good storyteller. I’ve told a few yarns in my day and I can count the good ones on one hand. In fact, when I was younger my brother and his best friend would request the same story over and over again, partly because it really was quite the tale but mostly because it was the only one I could tell very well.

Hopefully, however, it shouldn’t be too hard to picture a sunny afternoon waxing into evening out on a dusty baseball diamond. The grass in the outfield has been well-loved with rough patches and plenty of clover. Each base is covered in a fine layer of dust and the path between homeplate and the pitchers mound proves to be treacherous since there are a number of potholes along the way.

A smattering of people shuffle around…some looking more attentive than others. Some a little nervous. Some goofy. There’s dirt kicking and friendly banter while an adorable little girl wanders aimlessly between the grown-ups making cooing noises and clapping when someone slaps the kickball with their tennis shoe. J winds up to pitch and the ball is low and outside. A finds herself whacking the rubberball with the inside of her toes, just like she’d been trained in soccer practice and so the ball keeps flying over to foul off the third base line. N rubs his hands together over at second base tingling with anticipation and the chance to catch a pop-fly.

The evening unfolds much the way I’ve described. Throw in some cookies, plenty of water and Rice Krispy Treats and you pretty much have the whole picture. And this is what life is all about. Good friends out on a community basball diamond on a Monday night playing a game that makes us all remember fifth grade a little more fondly.