Post #247

Megan is impressively tall and twiggy. She's a beanpole, in the parlance of my rural ancestors. It's very noticeable when she takes the field in her saggy-bottomed softball pants. I love baseball/softball trousers because they have back pockets. What other sport affords you this wardrobe luxury. Football pants? No. Basketball? Uh-uh. Sand volleyball? They don't even cover their butt cheeks. Anyway, as I was saying: Meg is tall and gangly, but even if she shoots up higher than the Eiffel Tower, or Ginormica – who she kind of fine-featuredly resembles, actually – she will always be diminutive next to her older brother. Michael is a big boy.

Michael went 3-for-3 with a walk in our first playoff game. I batted him 2nd (in the order) and he delivered, reaching base in every at-bat against tough postseason pitching. It's hard to describe how this makes me feel. Christmas comes to mind, as do the best parties and celebrations I've ever been a part of. Roaring, bouncing crowds. Buzzer-beaters. Clenched, pumping fists. Hands in the air, goosebumps, trophies, champagne. Maybe space travel as the epitome of extreme accomplishment. The admiration I feel when thinking of the great strengths and accomplishments of the forebears I share with my son. Do I sound cheesy? I hope so. To sound uncheesy would do this feeling no justice whatsover. Michael and his teammates played great and beat a higher seed. There is nothing better.

Michael earned the President's Award for Educational Excellence. A chip of the old block, I say.