Last Catch with Chipper
The first catch was years ago when Chipper was five.
The catches during the middle years were singed with firey stings
When not-so-little Chipper whipped the ball and tattooed my gloveland with jive.
My suggestions, release sooner,look at target met with “shut-up Dads” eyes glaring live.
Today’s last catch years later, 10 months since not-so-little Chipper threw a ball
I encouraged her to take it easy on her arm, and startlingly she smiled
Instead of firing the ball at my soft glovehand, she threw easy and tall
Smiling, admitting twinges in arm, listening after all those catches gone bye.
Comaraderie in communion of two gloves at last,
Slap of leather with smack of softball
Leisurely recalling days of 80-pitch practices, spirit and bombast
Dad and daughter throwing to start a season perhaps the final of all.
They called her Chipper back then , small player, big heart,
When smacked in eye by intentionally thrown ball by a little boy in the littlest league,
She did not back away just smiled, never feeling fear in any part.
In many catches since and millions of swings never feeling fatigue
On that practice diamond today, tuning up old skills laid aside for new challenge,
The fleet stride returned, as aging father cranked up a few last fly balls
For the Chipper of the past, woman of present to race green and one-hand with deft lunge
In the rays of the fast pitch sun, a bond never realized was forged with wondress thralls.
With a catch-up to a gapper, to zero-in on a one-hander,
Just a dad and his grown kid playing catch again like glory days.
Shags and relays, admissions at long last that yes, some twinges in the winger,
“Dad, I’ll ice it later,” with a smile, the diamond rewarded us with more yesterdays.
