Between the Lines: A Father, A Son, and America's Pastime

The house across the street from my mother’s was for sale. It was nice but it’s crammed onto a small lot. It used to be Doc Branson’s lot. The Kissel’s chain link fence ran alongside it and was only about five feet from the garage. That was our home run fence when it was Doc’s lot. We’d play baseball there, but not on Doc’s day off, because he was always cutting grass. How did that big field fit on such a small lot?

We had to stop playing every time Mr. Jochum came home, because home plate was a bare spot at the other end of the lot right next to his driveway. We didn’t want to hit his car with a foul tip. There was only room for one base so when we hit the ball we had to run around the pitcher and tag the concrete block that Doc put in for us. No sliding allowed.

If we hit the ball to the right of the pitcher, it was a foul ball because that was too close to the street. Doc’s mulberry tree marked the foul line on the other side, and we always tried to hit it over there because the fielder would have to run through all the berries. The ball and his shoes would get purple juice all over them. If it hit a branch, it was still in play. Big guys weren’t allowed to hit home runs.

The first time I hit one over that fence it went into the Kissel’s yard and under the apple tree where we’d always pick apples after the games and try not to get stung by a bee. I went down to Bob’s house and told him what I did.

I was 10 years old, my second year in Little League, when I hit the ball for the first time in a real game. When I was nine, I batted four times. I only swung once, and that was because Tom’s mom promised to give me all the money she had if I just swung at a pitch. I swung all the way around, missed the ball and fell on my rear end right on home plate. I received 78 cents for that one. It felt great.

Now I swing a lot. One time, I swung and the ball barely missed my fingers and it stung real bad. I looked up and saw the ball drop on top of the visitors’ dugout. It’s always funny to see the coaches duck their heads when the ball hits the roof of the dugout, even when there’s no way it can hit them. It didn’t bounce very far, because it was real hot that day and the tar on the roof of the dugout was soft so the ball stuck there. That was the first time I hit the ball in a real game.

When I was 11, I started. Larry pitched for the other team. I hit the ball a lot, but for some reason, this time I couldn’t even feel the ball hit the bat. This one rose a lot higher than my others, way up in the air, and it kept going. It chopped right through the leaves on one of the little trees that Schaeffer just planted. He claimed it was for shade but we laughed about that because it was so little and only had about 25 leaves. The ball I hit knocked some of those off. That was my first home run in a real game. It was awesome.

When we got home, I rode my bike down to Bob’s house with my uniform on and waited for him to ask me how I did. His mom asked if we won and I said, “I hit my first home run.”