Tuesday, March 25, 2008

I Swear, I Stand, My Niece Was My Witness ...

At some point softballs became bright yellow (and we all know how I feel about bright yellow), and it was good.

I am not sure if I've ever shared my penchant for softball and relative associated skill. I am not sure I'd go to the categorical badass level, but I can hold my own.

Which is why I opted to buy a bag of softballs, and new bat, and engaged my baby nieces and cousins in a little softball practice on Easter Sunday prior to the annual egg hunt.

My sister was a great softball player, and her husband was a star baseball athlete, so it's no surprise that both of her girls, ages 12 and 7-nearing-8, have great arms and show some athletic prowess in the sport.

As you may also know, Uncle Brother (that's me) has a little problem with self-regulation. It's either wide-open or don't bother. So after 30 minutes of skill-level-appropriate practice, I decided I would try to hit a big pop-up out to my 12 year-old niece. Except I made a direct connection and hit a very impressive line-drive right in the direction of the 7 year-old. Who, with her little pink and black glittery softball glove, starts making an effort to catch it when, of course, it bounced on the ground 10 feet in front of her and found trajectory speed to connect directly on her left knee and thusly took her out. Yes, flat on the back out.

She commenced to wailing and I commenced to panic, feeling like Shitty McUncleston, despite my initial assessment that she was fine. It lead to her father, a firefighter with specialized EMT training, finding an ice wrap in my mother's house (And sidebar - when did my mom get good stuff like ice wraps? When I was a kid and, oh, got dragged by a horse for 20 feet with foot stuck in the stirrup positively spraining my ankle I was told, "you'll be aight.") and treating her knee to the point that I thought we were going to have to get x-rays.

My sister was sorta even throughout the whole ordeal and kept saying, under her breath, "She's just highly dramatic." A few minutes later someone found a stick that looked a bit like a crutch, which she eagerly used for about 20 minutes, making me feel even shittier. But when the egg hunt started, she was miraculously healed! I still felt shitty but then she found the prize egg and all was right with the world.

Moral of story: You're 36. She's 7.

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