If You Ain't First, You're Last
Feb. 25th, 2010 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bunchofgrapesWhen I was in 4th grade my mom signed me up for softball.
I grew up in an apartment complex, the only child of a single working mom. I was a latchkey kid before they had a name for us. I was on my own a lot and by today's standards, I'd have probably spent a lot of time in child protective services. But because I was raised by a single parent, I learned to be very self sufficient and very responsible. Didn't mean I was good. I mean, maybe I was sort of that obnoxious kid who'd ring and run (we had a different, very politically incorrect name for it) the neighbors, or who'd let off a string of black cats in the storm drain under the apartments so it sounded like gunshots. And I might have been the kid who started smoking at age 9 (no, that's not a typo) but surprisingly, I never drank and I never did drugs. I did however, have a couple of close calls with the law (I didn't get caught but my friends did) and I think my mom knew she needed to do something to keep me busy after school so I wouldn't get into trouble.
I was a tomboy growing up so I played a lot of football and baseball. And in an apartment building, there are always enough kids to make up a couple of teams. I could play a little ball but it wasn't organized team sports. With a coach who yells, or equipment and bases. And it wasn't fast pitch.
I don't remember too much about that first day except that I wanted to play 3rd base. The coach, Mr. Taylor, said no. At 5'4 I was one of the tallest kids in the 4th grade. I think at that time I might have even been the tallest girl in the whole school. Coach Taylor took one look at the gangly blonde kid and put me at 1st base. I hated it in the beginning but very soon I came to love playing first. I had a long reach and I could stretch to catch those short throws and yeah, I was good. Not so good at grounders or sliding into bases but I was good at catching the ball. And watching airplanes fly overhead. Hey, elementary school kids only have an attention span that's so long and it gets boring standing around. Mr. Taylor was a yeller. He used to tell us "how you practice is how you play" and "losers never win and winners never quit". There was none of that "let's all play and have a good time even if we lose" namby pamby shit. This was win or go home softball. And we were good. I have the trophies and patches to prove it. I also have the arthritic fingers and knees to remind me.
There's no way our softball coach would meet with parental approval nowadays. He wasn't about letting little Polly play because she was on the team and everyone got to play. If little Polly sucked balls, she didn't play. Actually, she probably quit because he yelled at her and made her run laps. He once made his daughter, our second baseman, run so many laps that she just ran home. I can't remember if she ever came back. He coached boy's baseball and honestly, he treated us like boys. But like I said, we won games. And the same core players stayed together until we were thrown out of the league in 10th grade for fighting. Did I mention we were a tough bunch of girls? Then again, with some of the worst team names (Carnegie Kittens and Nimitz Nuggets--he had a thing for alliteration), we had to be. We all went our separate ways after that incident and I have to say, sports were never the same for me.
So thanks, Mr. Taylor. Thanks for keeping me out of trouble and for pushing me to be better. Thanks for teaching me what teamwork is and that winning really is fun. Most of all, thanks for footing the bill when my mom couldn't afford the cost of the uniforms or the fees to play. I'd kind of hate to think how things might have been different if I hadn't turned out for softball in 4th grade. And I'm pretty sure my best friend would never have been my best friend.
I grew up in an apartment complex, the only child of a single working mom. I was a latchkey kid before they had a name for us. I was on my own a lot and by today's standards, I'd have probably spent a lot of time in child protective services. But because I was raised by a single parent, I learned to be very self sufficient and very responsible. Didn't mean I was good. I mean, maybe I was sort of that obnoxious kid who'd ring and run (we had a different, very politically incorrect name for it) the neighbors, or who'd let off a string of black cats in the storm drain under the apartments so it sounded like gunshots. And I might have been the kid who started smoking at age 9 (no, that's not a typo) but surprisingly, I never drank and I never did drugs. I did however, have a couple of close calls with the law (I didn't get caught but my friends did) and I think my mom knew she needed to do something to keep me busy after school so I wouldn't get into trouble.
I was a tomboy growing up so I played a lot of football and baseball. And in an apartment building, there are always enough kids to make up a couple of teams. I could play a little ball but it wasn't organized team sports. With a coach who yells, or equipment and bases. And it wasn't fast pitch.
I don't remember too much about that first day except that I wanted to play 3rd base. The coach, Mr. Taylor, said no. At 5'4 I was one of the tallest kids in the 4th grade. I think at that time I might have even been the tallest girl in the whole school. Coach Taylor took one look at the gangly blonde kid and put me at 1st base. I hated it in the beginning but very soon I came to love playing first. I had a long reach and I could stretch to catch those short throws and yeah, I was good. Not so good at grounders or sliding into bases but I was good at catching the ball. And watching airplanes fly overhead. Hey, elementary school kids only have an attention span that's so long and it gets boring standing around. Mr. Taylor was a yeller. He used to tell us "how you practice is how you play" and "losers never win and winners never quit". There was none of that "let's all play and have a good time even if we lose" namby pamby shit. This was win or go home softball. And we were good. I have the trophies and patches to prove it. I also have the arthritic fingers and knees to remind me.
There's no way our softball coach would meet with parental approval nowadays. He wasn't about letting little Polly play because she was on the team and everyone got to play. If little Polly sucked balls, she didn't play. Actually, she probably quit because he yelled at her and made her run laps. He once made his daughter, our second baseman, run so many laps that she just ran home. I can't remember if she ever came back. He coached boy's baseball and honestly, he treated us like boys. But like I said, we won games. And the same core players stayed together until we were thrown out of the league in 10th grade for fighting. Did I mention we were a tough bunch of girls? Then again, with some of the worst team names (Carnegie Kittens and Nimitz Nuggets--he had a thing for alliteration), we had to be. We all went our separate ways after that incident and I have to say, sports were never the same for me.
So thanks, Mr. Taylor. Thanks for keeping me out of trouble and for pushing me to be better. Thanks for teaching me what teamwork is and that winning really is fun. Most of all, thanks for footing the bill when my mom couldn't afford the cost of the uniforms or the fees to play. I'd kind of hate to think how things might have been different if I hadn't turned out for softball in 4th grade. And I'm pretty sure my best friend would never have been my best friend.
