I was at my sister's house for a little family gathering cookout on Fathers' Day. We were reminiscing about when we were kids and about the crazy things that happened. I told everyone about how I've been putting some of those tales on this blog.
At one point, somebody mentioned getting knocked out, and I said, "I knocked Leah Anne out with a baseball bat once."
"He sure did," said my sister (Leah Anne), laughing.
I'm not a violent person, and I want to make it clear that I didn't beat my sister senseless with a bat.
Here's what happened:
One summer, when we were at my grandmother's house in Texas, my friend Paul and I wanted to play baseball. We were bored with just playing catch, so we took turns pitching batting practice to each other. Since we didn't have a catcher, we used a tree as a backstop/catcher - any pitch that got by the batter would hit the tree and bounce back, rather that rolling under the bushes.
On one of my turns at bat, I took a few practice swings and stepped up to the imaginary plate. Paul started his windup and I cocked the bat backwards, getting ready for the pitch.
Clunk!
I thought I was too close to the tree and had hit it, so I moved up a couple of steps. Paul was cracking up laughing.
"What's so funny?" I asked. Hitting a tree wasn't that hilarious, I thought.
"You...your sister!" he blurted.
"She's in the house," I said.
He pointed and I turned around. There was my sister, just starting to sit up in the grass.
I hadn't hit the tree - just my sister's hard head.
I didn't get in trouble for this one. My sister admitted that she should have said something before walking behind me into the line of fire.
Sometimes I'm surprised we survived childhood.
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