homerun

Today, Sydney hit the longest homerun of her relatively short wiffleball career, a towering bomb to left-center field. I tossed one to her at the knees and out over the plate and she let go with the smoothest left-handed swing I’ve seen her make, head perfectly to ball. Crack! Papa laughs.

Not just because it’s January and we’re playing wiffleball, not just because Sydney is four and requested wiffleball, but because his daughter cackled as she raced around the imaginary bases in our frozen backyard.

“Good pitch, Papa!” she said, as she picked up the bat. “If we played for the Cubbies, we’d be stars.”