When my sister was born, I was already 9 years old. The day she was born, was the first day I reported to duty for fast pitch ‘rag ball’. A few practices in, and I worked my way into the starting pitcher role.
The picture above is me a year or so later in Phoenix retelling what happened that day to my sister, my first student. To this day, I remember my first starting pitching role all so clearly:
I walked the first three batters. Hit the next two. Walked in another 3 runs. By the time we finally made our third out, the catcher threw the ball back just short to me. As I was bent over, the ball ricocheted off the pitcher’s mound straight up into my mouth and chipped my front tooth.
As I walked off the mound holding my bloody lip at the top of the first inning, I saw my mom and tio walking up the bleachers to find their seats. Thankfully, they were late and missed the whole charade of me “pitching”. I started crying in the dugout and it caught my mom’s attention. She walked over and looked at me and said first thing, “What happened to your tooth?”