Creative Non-Fiction Short Stories. :) Travel, Oldsters, Love, and Compassion.
He is tiny in Timberland boots. He holds the orange plastic bat over his shoulder, as his father shows him. When Dad tosses the light, white plastic ball the little boy swings. He misses once. He connects on the next very slow pitch.
“Wow, right, Dad? Wow!”
“Yeah, wow, that was great!”
“I hit it way way way way faaaaaaar away. I hit it all the way to my house.”
Dad doesn’t split hairs about how far his son hits the ball, but only heaps praise and encouragement. When his son misses, the boy tries a golf swing at the ball on the ground, swooshing past the white lump in front of him on several occasions. “You can throw it. Okay? You can throw it instead,” the father figures they have a good thing going with the baseball attempts, and golf can wait.
The boy sighs after a few more pitches, “It’s your turn to hit.”
“Are you tired?”
“No, you look tired, Dad. You look like you could use some juice.”
So Dad admits, “Yeah, let’s get some juice.”
“I’ll have some with you.” The boy hustles over to his father’s side, and they walk together–way way way far away–crossing the mere ten paces to reach their home.