the love of the game

I don't think I can tell you the moment I first picked up a wiffleball bat.

And I don't know how many games my brothers and I played as children.

I don't know how to describe the countless Saturdays dedicated to Little League.

I can't count how many Stockton Ports games I've been to.

I don't know how many Oakland A's games I've been to.

I don't think I've ever mentioned it before, but now I will.

Baseball is kind of a piece of who I am.

When I think about it- most of my childhood memories involve baseball.

Or water...but that is a different story.

This past weekend, I fused the then with the now.

Baseball has entered my life once again.

And I love it.

I forgot that I loved it.

I forgot that I cared.

But I do.

There's this tiny part of me that wonders how I could ever let a love like this go. 

And how I could possibly find a way to love something else and just forget this part of me.

But it happened.

But somehow, baseball found it's way back.

And I couldn't be happier.