When I was in elementary school, I was pretty anonymous, and quiet. For at least the first year of it, I was considered developmentally challenged- well, at least by my parents, until they realized I wasn’t simply stupid, but just blind. I don’t remember a whole lot from elementary school specifically. I showed up. I did my work. I read my books. I swang on the swings. I ate my french fries and coleslaw and drank my chocolate milk. I went home.

When I was in junior high school, I was also anonymous. But by that time, I was also gifted, which meant I was bookish, took special classes, and was otherwise on the social periphery at school. I was overly tall and skinny. I wore thick glasses in chunky frames. I had acne. And I was pretty quiet.

I didn’t grow up a super athlete- although my folks did their best to encourage us kids to try and play sports.

I was on a baseball team every summer from after second grade through sixth grade. During these years, I usually played about half a game each game. I remember going to a lot of practices, standing at first base (because I was tall) or in right (because I was a lefty) on a dirt field, feeling the wind blowing across my face while I waited for a hit, or a throw. I remember dirt carried by the wind getting in my eyes, and lots of tearing. I also remember how balls hit in the dirt at practice never followed a straight path to a fielder. They would always hit rocks as they skipped off of the ground, inevitably zagging away from where you set up to stop them, or bouncing to the side, or even up, at the last minute. Occasionally you’d get hit in the face when the ball popped up off the ground. You learned to protect your junk, too.

I liked baseball, but I was just okay at it. I liked being on a team. I liked being at the park. I liked anticipating a play. I liked the feel of the sun on my face. I liked snow cones. I liked successfully scooping a throw out of the dirt (when it happened). I liked winning.

I didn’t like really windy days at practice, though. I didn’t like taking popups in the outfield a whole lot, because I was still partially blind, and when you ran after a fly ball, your glasses bounced and you lost the ball in the sun. And I didn’t necessarily like batting much- because I struggled to hit, again, in part, because my eyesight was poor. I didn’t like losing.

Mostly, I didn’t like sitting on the bench a lot, like I did for two of the seasons because I couldn’t hit. I didn’t like feeling like the guy who was gonna get his four innings in and then be sat for the rest of the game. I struggled being the awkward kid on the team who was bigger than all of the other kids, but whose skills were misplaced somewhere.

I liked baseball, but I was a bench guy a lot.

I remember crying after several practices when I was in fourth grade because I was the kid on the team who couldn’t hit anything, and my coach patiently stayed around to try and help me figure out what I was doing wrong, but all I could do is swing a lot and miss pitches. That coach was a nice coach to me, but I still rode the bench that year. I was growing and lanky and I couldn’t hit anything, and I didn’t love baseball that year.

I was happy my parents stuck with sports and put me on a basketball team when I was in fifth grade though.

We had moved across town between my fourth and fifth grade years, and my siblings and I were in new schools and on an edge of the town where everything north of our street was swallowed in brown. Since it was a new area, and we were in new schools, we had to make new friends.

I was pretty tore up when we moved because I had to leave behind my best friend of three years, Paul Hagenloh. My guess is that he wasn’t as affected by me moving as I was, leaving him. I have never been someone with a lot of close friends. I have always felt lucky to be close to one or two people at any point in my life. Well, leaving Paul back on the other side of town, I was lost coming into the new neighborhood. Having mentioned my quiet tendencies before, I was quiet in my new school, and slow at making friends. Playing on a basketball team helped me out a bit.

Basketball help me out, in part, because I ended up on a team with a number of really good players, who would end up playing in high school, and we won. I also realized that though I was lanky and a bit coordinated, my height made me naturally better at the game than most others. And because everyone in our neighborhood played basketball after school in one of three or four driveways, basketball helped me to fit in on the street.

After I played that year in elementary school, my parents sent me to Lobo basketball camps, and I grew and became more coordinated. In time, I quit trying to play basketball, and even became a basketball player during junior high school. I became good. I was tall, I could run, block shots here and there, and even developed an effective hook shot. I think playing basketball as a junior high kid is the closest I have ever come to being a true athlete. I worked on my game for two years, especially during summers when us kids would hang outside all day.

Basketball helped me to find some of the confidence I was looking for as a gangly dude shuffling through middle school.

I did hit a home run ball as a baseball player, though, which has been heralded in our family history.

As a second grader swinging at whatever came out of that pitching machine dealie, I did get ahold of one and took it yard, out of that junior league field, vidently to the right of the center field scoreboard. I remember hearing an explosion of cheering, being directed to run around bases in the golden light of that early morning game, and being given the ball the next inning when we were back in the dugout. I’m not sure at the time I fully knew what happened, but people were happy for me, and that made me feel special.

In my personal sports history, and though I don’t fully remember it- that has to be the high point of my athletic career.