The ball made a hisss-thwack as it went from man to boy and back. And each time the man palmed the ball, he considered each throw carefully, making sure to look at the boy’s mitt and point his arm like he saw some one show some other small boy.
The man liked the sound of the ball, the comfortable rhythm and he recalled the solitary memory of playing catch with his own father. On a summer day, mid-afternoon, the man’s father relenting to the somewhat persistent requests of a boy in wont of his father’s attention.
A borrowed glove, a hardball, and a quiet residential street, the two quickly found the rhythm and heard the satisfactory thwack of ball in mitt. The man had no recollection of learning to throw or ever playing catch again with his father, like he did that afternoon so many years ago. And the man wasn’t able [...]
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