I know I've told this story before but I can't remember if I ever posted it to this blog. If you've already heard it I apologize. If not, enjoy the tale.....
Our short stay in Roswell, New Mexico was a true adventure for us. We had never lived where there weren't any trees or creeks. We felt like we had moved to the wilderness and would probably be blown away during one of the dust storms. We had dust in our hair, dust in our clothes, dust on the windowpanes....it was a GREAT adventure. The joy of it was dampened somewhat by mama's constant crying but we tried to overlook that. The third day we were in our new house Glenn and I couldn't help ourselves from chasing the tumbleweeds, which were constantly blowing across the empty lots around us. We blended in with the natives real well as we ran after each weed, caught it, and stored it in our garage. We were so pleased with our efforts we kept them for our dad to see when he came home from work. He was so happy and honored when he opened the door to the garage and found it packed to the ceiling with huge tumbleweeds. I can still hear his happy yelling.
Mama cried for about 14 months. This was a real puzzle to us because we lived in New Mexico for less than 10 months. I guess we all know where our tendency toward depression comes from. Anyway, about my only memory of her was of her sitting at the living room window, looking out, and crying....a lot! We couldn't understand it. After all, there were no trees to block her view, there was this fantastic wind blowing, dust was everywhere, there was an alfalfa field to hide in, there was an old gravel pit a mile south of us where we could ride our bikes like crazy, and there were lots of lizards to chase. What more could the woman want?!
My very best memory of living in New Mexico was having a chance to play little league baseball. I never got to play in Hurst for some reason, that reason being money. Daddy was making a lot of money working in Roswell so we had more to spend on fun stuff. I couldn't believe it when he suggested I sign up for little league.
I went to the ballpark for tryouts and was quickly picked by the "Yankees". The First National Bank of Roswell sponsored us and I have to say their sponsorship was money well spent. We did them proud by winning a game before the season was over! Really! I know why I was picked so quickly during the tryouts. First of all, I was good. I lived for baseball back then and I was darn good. Secondly, I was left-handed. Everyone knows left-handed players are the best. Thirdly, the coach's son was a good friend of mine from school. Oh sure, I know that didn't play into his decision at all but I thought I'd throw it in.
I got to play first base and back up pitcher. I was the best first baseman in Roswell. I have that information as fact from my mama. When she wasn't crying she was telling me I was the best first base player she ever saw. I did not like to pitch though. The few times I tried many young men were damaged severely. I never found out if any of the hits to the head with a hardball caused any permanent damage. We moved back to Texas too soon. You know, we always thought we moved back to Texas due to another transfer for my dad.....could it have been getting out of town to avoid lawsuits? I guess we'll never know...
One day during practice I impressed the coach so much I thought he was going to wet his pants. He had been preaching to us about dedication to the game. He wanted us to really get into it and learn how to play our very best. He wanted us to strive for perfection without fear of pain. He wanted to win a cotton-picking game before the season was over. Anyway, I was standing just west of first base dreaming about some useless subject when a line drive was hit just outside the base line. I ran for it and as I glided through the air I snagged that ball like a pro. I got pretty scratched up in the process but I came up with the ball in my glove. Coach was so excited he stopped practice to tell everyone THAT was the kind of dedication he was talking about. He wanted everyone to play that same way. I didn't have the heart to tell him I tripped over the base on my way for the ball. I didn't catch it. It caught me. If I hadn't tripped I would have missed that ball by a mile.
When we finally won the last game of the season everyone in the park, including the team we beat, gave us a standing ovation. The coach cried. As far as I know he never coached again. You just can't repeat perfection.
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