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There was plenty of room in front of my house. Leonard and Mama spent the whole day clearing the weeds and rocks, leveling the ground, and marking the bases. I helped as much as I could, mostly by fetching water and cheering them on. By the time the sun began to set, we had a real, honest-to-goodness ball field. It wasn't perfect, but it was ours. Leonard showed me how to stand, how to grip the ball, and how to follow through with my throw. He patiently corrected my stance and my aim, over and over again. We practiced every day, sometimes for hours, until my arm ached and my hands were raw. Slowly, painstakingly, I began to improve. I could throw the ball farther, and more importantly, I could throw it where I wanted it to go.
When it was time to go back to school, I took my ball glove with me. The first day of softball at recess, I stood a little taller, a little straighter. When Jeff and Kevin chose their teams, I waited, not with dread, but with a quiet confidence. This time, I wasn't the last one picked. I was chosen before some of the other boys. During the game, a ball came my way, and I caught it! I threw it to second base, and the runner was out. My teammates cheered, and I felt a thrill of pride and accomplishment. I still ran to the outfield, but now, I was ready. I was a ballplayer.