Four Words To Help Someone Who’s Suffering

If you stop playing the game every time it hurts, you’re not going to get very good.

It was late one summer evening, the first time dad broke my nose.

We were out back playing catch, somewhere beneath the shade of that mutated maple. The one that looked like several smaller trees had grown together to make two giant hands praying.

We lived on Frontier, then. The street, not the actual Frontier.

To one side, the old lady with the faded gold chain on her glasses and bird’s nest red hair smoked her trillionth cigarette. On the other, the oldest of three lanky blonde sisters situated herself just right, stretching out like a cat trying to get as much sun as possible.

“See if you can catch this,” dad said. Famous last words if there ever were.

Typically, dad tossed me pop-ups that any seven-year-old could catch. But this one had some heat on it. A bit more challenging, sure. But also more fun. I didn’t just catch it; I made it look easy.

If you knew my dad, you knew that was a mistake. He loved to test people’s limits. Especially if they underestimated the game.

The next pitch was faster still, forcing me to pay attention. I pulled my glove…