Baseball was my favorite sport. Like most kids Little League was a place that offered an early opportunity to see if you liked to play and whether you were good at it. Dad was the coach for many of those years. I usually played Shortstop or Third Base. I also pitched and jumped in at First Base when necessary. I hit third or fourth in the lineup, a spot reserved for the best hitters. I was a decent player. Problem was – I had a bad temper. If I struck out or got pulled from a game I was pitching in, I got mad as heck, especially when I struck out. I’d throw the bat and helmet and head to the end of the bench pouting until it was time to go out in the field. It was awful. But I just couldn’t figure out why I felt that way After all, it was only a game. What the heck was I so ticked off about? Over and over again.
Dad, well, he’d offer up the evil eye that penetrated my soul. I couldn’t figure out if it was because I struck out or because I threw the bat. Only later did I ask that question of myself, without an answer. For some odd reason, I think I was trying to show Dad how mad I was that I didn’t live up to his expectations. Much later I would determine how prophetic that feeling was. I made an agreement with myself that it wasn’t possible to succeed as my Dad defined it. But man, did I try. At the risk of so much.
Shame is a real thing and especially for someone that viewed himself the way I did. Not worthy of much, not able to be the best at everything I did. That my friends is a lie straight from hell and the devil himself.
And that’s the memo.
Steve – from 90 Days on the Inside (expected release Date early 2022)
