In which Miss A tries sports

A much shorter version of this story recently received an award. No big deal.

When Miss A turned five, her parents decided it was high time she got socialized. We guess this was a result of her weirdo toddler years (the nudist years) and her early inclination to just follow her big sister, the divine Miss M, around everywhere. Despite Miss A showing no particular aptitude for sports, her parents enrolled her in a co-ed kiddie tee-ball league.

“Co-ed” is a generous term—Miss A was plopped into an already formed team of boys. Burly, strapping five-year-old boys who ate raw bear meat as an afternoon snack. Boys who listened to Alice Cooper in the womb. Boys who smelled. We seem to remember a particular boy who threatened to punch Miss A in the face, just because she was a little girl. A Facebook search tells us that this boy never amounted to much.

Despite Miss A’s unsavory companions, she managed to handle the tee-ball season well enough—only pouting a little bit before each game, politely drinking her juice box without drawing special attention and befriending the one boy on the team that was nice to her, who probably was gay. We don’t know. We can’t remember his last name to research him. Anyway, the point is that for the majority of the tee-ball season, Miss A was able to put on a brave (adorable) face. She was a pretty terrible tee-ball player, but at least snacks were involved.

Then came a game day that changed everything. Forever. Literally, the course of Miss A’s life was changed. Forever.

It was a hot spring day. Miss A was next up at bat. Sitting next to the team’s horde of clementines, she spit out the rest of her chewing tobacco, then stood up and waddled over to home plate, looking over her shoulder to see where her mom and dad were.

They waved. Everything seemed normal. She thought, in a brain remarkably well-formed for someone so young and small, that she was almost done with this stupid game. All she needed to do was swing at the tee seven or eight times until the umpire mercifully let her go sit back down and play with blades of grass by herself.

Having arrived at the tee, little Miss A raised her bat and prepared for some humiliation. She swung, and—hit the ball? What? What does one do when that happens? Up to this point, Miss A hadn’t paid much attention to tee-ball rules.

Confused, she watched the ball fly up and over the tiny mitts of her opponents. Was she out yet? Should she wait until they catch it?

At this point she realized the crowd, and specifically her parents, were going apeshit. Everyone was screaming and pointing at first base. Some were clapping. Why would they do that? It had been such a difficult day and all Miss A wanted to do was go home and have a juicebox.

And so it was that, after hitting her first and only home run, Miss A sat down on home base and started crying.

Not very long afterward, her mom enrolled her in ballet lessons.