Rainbows and Four Leaf Clovers – Part 2

To see part 1, click below.


Game day…

Coach: Get out in right field and just don’t move. Okay?

Me: Okie Dokie.

I waved to my parents and ran into position in far right field. I think it was during the third of fourth inning when a batter on the opposing team hit a zipper directly toward right field. The ball peaked high over the field and began to descend right after it cleared first base. Every person watching from the bleachers was fixated on the ball’s trajectory. It was headed directly toward me.

This was the moment my dad had wanted. The moment his son would shock the world by catching his first baseball. There’d be screams of joy. Hugs for days. A party even.

My dad must have been heartbroken when he and the other family and friends watched as the ball dropped from the sky and landed softly in the shallow grass in outer right field. At nearly the same moment the ball made contact with the ground, I jumped up in excitement, oblivious to my missed super stardom. I didn’t care. I just found my first four leaf clover.

“Mom. Look!” I held my bounty up so she could share in the dazzlement.

My dad dropped his head into his hands and wept. My coach dropped to his knees and pounded his head against the ground.

I looked for my mom. She stood behind my dad and offered me a shielded thumbs up. She understood the skill and patience required to locate a four leaf clover in a field that expansive. What were the odds?

My baseball career ended that afternoon. I was thrilled. The car ride home was tense.

“You didn’t even try,” my dad said.

“I was out there in this ridiculous uniform, wasn’t I?” I replied.

“All you had to do was open your glove. The ball would have dropped right into it.”

I leaned in between the two front seats. “That’s selfish, Dad. Did it ever occur to you that I couldn’t care less whether I caught the stupid ball. And look at me. I’m wearing a royal blue and pumpkin jersey. Haven’t I suffered enough for one day.”

My dad slowly came around. He even applauded my balance beam routine that I performed on the bench of our picnic table the following month.

My dad passed away in August of 2014. He lived a full life with many great memories. I miss him. I’m also willing to bet that when I was preparing for the dismount after my grueling balance beam routine, my dad had the same reaction as the one he displayed on those bleachers in the Summer of 1978. He hoped and dreamed I’d nail it. And boy did I ever. Perfect landing!

Rainbows and Four Leaf Clovers


It was this picture that triggered the following turn of events in the summer of 1978.

Mom: Your dad thinks you should start playing sports.

Me: Why?

Mom: He thinks it might be good for your OCD.

Me: That doesn’t make any sense. I’m terrible at sports.

Mom: You don’t have to play competitively. Maybe just practice a little with the other boys.

Me: What’s in it for me?

Mom: Ice cream every Saturday for a year.

Me: Saturday and Sunday.

Mom: Deal.

The coach requested me to show up at Pee-Wee League baseball the following Saturday. Practice was ten to twelve. I showed up at 11:30 am, thinking I was early. Practice was actually from 10 am to 12 pm. I hated this already.

Coach: You’re late.

Me: You’re vague.

Coach: Grab a glove. We’ll throw some balls to you.

Me: You’re going to throw balls at me?

Coach: That’s how it works.

Me: I don’t think so. I’ll tell you what. It’s clear I don’t want to be here, and you don’t want me here. What if you put me in the least visible position for one game to please my dad and I’ll promise not to embarrass you all season.

Coach: How does far right field sound?

Me: When’s game day.

…. To Be Continued…

For Part 2, click the link below.


Movies in an IBS World

This is a bit juvenile but it makes me chuckle.

If movies were told by those suffering from IBS, we might have had:

  • Stall Wars
  • August: Osage Cramping
  • Ordinary Poopy
  • Harry Pottie
  • I know Where You Shit Last Summer
  • A Few Good Movements
  • Turdman
  • Bloatbusters
  • The Constipation Game
  • Poopanormal Activity

I know you have one recommendation of your own…

My First Confession

My recollection of my first confession. Keep in mind I was only 7 or 8 at the time.

Me: Hello?

Priest: Are you here to confess your sins, my child?

Me: Oh, there you are. Why are you way over there? I thought I could whisper my way through this. My mom is right outside.

Priest: I can hear you fine.

Me: It’s kind of dark in here. Is that normal?

Priest: You shouldn’t need light to confess your sins.

Me: I have them written down.

Priest leans forward and turns on a small lamp at the top of the confession booth. Several moments of silence ensue.

Priest: Are you here to confess your sins, my child?

Me: We already established that. I’m just making some last minute additions. I pulled this list together last night and it’s already 11 a.m. Apparently the lady who went before me had a lot to get off her chest. She was in here for like an hour.

The priest exhales loudly.

Me: Okay, I’m ready.

Priest: Yes, my child.

Me: Let me just get right to the point here. I was the one who ate the banana bread at my school’s bake sale. I’m sorry. What did they expect me to do? My teacher, Mrs. Winterberry, had me sitting at that stupid table all day talking to old ladies who smelled like burnt coffee and cigarette smoke. I was starving. I wanted to pay for the bread. I really did. But, to be honest, the bread seemed like a fair trade. And it wasn’t even that good. It was dry. I nearly choked the death. It tasted nothing like my mom’s. And what’s the real sin here? Eating the banana bread? I don’t think so. I’m sure if you’re ranking sins, you’d agree that exploiting children would beat stealing.


Me: Are you still there?

Priest: Are there more sins you’d like to confess today?

Me: Yes

Priest: Continue.

Me: I punched my younger sister. It was in self defense. I know it and God knows it. But my sister is convincing when she tells her side of the story. Well I’ll tell you the real story. She had been following me all morning like an annoying shadow. Every time I turned around, there she was. Making silly faces or pushing her nose up like a little piggy. I’d had enough. I gave her a warning. I said, “Lisa, leave me the hell alone or I’m going to punch you.” You’d think she’d stop, right? Well she didn’t. I opened the refrigerator door to get some Kool-Aid and when I closed the door, there she was. She scared the crap out of me, Instinctively I extended my arm and landed my fist onto her shoulder. She dropped like a bag of rocks. Of course I felt bad but she had it coming to her. And you don’t see her here today, do you? Interesting, huh? But here I am. This is a classic example of blaming the victim.

Priest: Is there anything else?

Me: Well, how am I doing so far?

Priest: I can handle one more.

Me: Do you have any water in here?

Priest: No, I’m sorry.

Me: I don’t want to complain but if you’re expecting people to confess all of their sins at once, it might be a good idea to have water available, especially if we’re getting one of those communion wafers later. Last time, I had it stuck to the roof of my mouth all the way home.

Priest: I think we’ve had enough for one day.

Me: Oh, okay.

Priest: Your penance is 10 Our Fathers and 20 Hail Marys.

Me: That is completely over the top. Were you even listening? How about I do 8 Our Fathers and 10 Hail Marys.

Priest: Just go.

Wiki and Hobbs


Here is a formal introduction.

Wiki is the Jack Russell Terrier. A better description would be the 12-pound tornado. She was born in April and arrived here in late May. Hobbs is the Chihuahua, or as I refer to him “The creator of the tiny turds left behind all of the furniture.” He was born in May and was rescued from a shelter in Arkansas. He arrived here in September.

At 6 and 5 months old, respectively, I am in house training hell. I woke up this morning and walked into a scene from the Exorcist. I needed a HazMat suit.

Wiki is salt of the earth. A bit blue collar. Hobbs is an elitist, which is odd because he came from a shelter and Wiki came from a breeder. I captured this picture the other day. It sums up Hobbs’ personality.

I just can't.

I just can’t.