Donatien Alphonse François de Sade, the French
Marquis would have been pleased with Pop’s teaching methods. Pop, Earl’s
father, had a bit of a short fuse. Especially when it came to trying to help raise
his first born child, Earl. Pop seemed to think that the best way to make Earl
learn anything was to beat him if he got anything wrong. That appeared to be
the way to teach his son how to catch a ball, too.
Pop wanted his oldest son on a kid’s baseball
team. So, he signed the boy up without checking to see if the lad was even the
slightest bit interested. Earl didn’t know how to catch, throw or field. Not a
chance he was interested in his loving father teaching him. Pop went to the
first practice and saw that, barring the demise of every other kid on the team;
Earl was destined for a career of riding the pine. It was time for any red
blooded American man to teach his lad the manly art of catching and pitching.
Pop played on a men’s team, but the men didn’t
normally bring their kids to a game. Those players were almost all war vets and
used baseball as a way to have some time with the guys away from the stress of
families. Pop was a pretty good pitcher and thought if he could throw and
catch, his son should be able to also. He grabbed his bucket of practice balls
and the glove he had used when he was a kid and headed out to teach Earl the
game of spring.
At first Pop underhanded a few balls to Earl.
Earl didn’t have any luck trying to catch them. That first practice was the
only time Earl had ever even held a glove, let alone wear one. And he had not
seen much baseball. Pop told Earl to throw the balls back to him. After walking
all over his yard, his neighbor’s yard and the alley behind those yards finding
balls, it was decided to concentrate on catching. The fact that Earl had hands
of stone didn’t figure in too well. Long story short, Pop decided he would
teach that boy to catch, one way or the other.
He stood Earl up in front of the wooden fence in
the back yard. Pop showed Earl where to hold his hands and told him when he had
caught all the balls in the bucket practice was over. Pop paced out the distance
to a pitchers mound and tossed a few to his son. Said son didn’t catch any of
them. Not one. Not even the ones that accidentally hit his glove. This just
ticked Pop off. He figured even an idiot could catch one by accident.
Therefore, the boy wasn’t even trying. He threw the rest of the balls in the
bucket a bit harder, figuring if they stung a bit the boy would be motivated to
stop some of them. Score after the first bucket, balls twenty something, crying
assed baby boy nothing. Pop and the cry baby picked up all the balls and put
them back in the bucket.
Earl wanted to go inside; Pop wanted his SON to
learn to catch. “You want to go inside, catch the God Damned balls.” A few
smacks to stop all the crying and they were off on the great American pastime
once again. Pop and Earl had picked up all the balls and filled the bucket
again. The family fun was just beginning. Pop went through the third bucket,
starting out aiming at Earl’s chest with medium pitches and, by the end of the
bucket, was throwing high hard ones right at the boys face. Earl ended up
catching three. Those three went into a pitiful pile to one side. Not too many
in that little pile but none of them were coming back for more. Pop told Earl,
“You caught those; all you have to do now is catch the rest of them. I know you
can catch, you just have to do it.” Pop made Earl grab all but the three he had
caught and put them in the bucket. Back to the mound.
Earl was hurting and wanted to be anywhere on the
planet other than here. Pop was getting tired and really angry that his kid
wouldn’t make the tiny effort to be more like the rest of the kids in the
neighborhood. Batter up. Pop pitched, Earl missed and the time wore on. Two
more baseballs went into the caught pile. The bucket collected the rest and the
lesson continued. Pop was hungry, the sun was getting lower in the west and
there were still balls in that Damned bucket.
Pop decided he was taking it too easy on his son.
So, Pop started throwing smoke. Pop had been the starting pitcher on his ships
team in the Navy. He had even gotten a little interest from some minor league
scouts. A couple of his pitches hit Earl hard enough to drop him. Pop told him
to get his ass up, stop sniveling and catch the last few balls. Pop thought,
all he has to do is catch a few more and I can go get dinner.
Earl never saw the one that stopped the practice.
The sun was in his eyes, on top of being nearly swollen shut from crying. Pop
threw, something blocked the sun for a split second and then it was nap time. Once
again Earl made a trip to the emergency room. And it wouldn’t be his last one
either. Pop told the nurses that the boy fell out of a tree. Good enough.
Nobody asked Earl what happened. There wasn’t a shortage of Indian kids whose
parents didn’t have insurance. Doctors and nurses asking questions cost time
and money. None of which the hospital was likely to get back. So unless Pop
killed one of the boys, it was just easier to write it up the way the parents
told them.
Pop gave up on teaching Earl to catch. It was the
start of a long tradition of giving up on Earl. Teach, beat, give up. Teach,
beat, give up. There grew to be shorter and shorter periods of beating until
Pop finally gave up entirely on Big Earl.
When, to the surprise of everyone in the family,
Big Earl became the first person in his family to graduate from high school,
Pop called him aside. Earl didn’t expect a graduation present. Pop looked at
his oldest son and said, “You are a worthless son-of-a-bitch and you will never
amount to anything as long as you live.” Happy graduation.
Some kids get cars when they graduate. Others get
rings, watches, college money, any and all kinds of presents that last a short
while and are then replaced. Pop actually beat all of the other parents with
his present. He gave Big Earl motivation to prove that, no matter what else
happened in his life, Pop would always know he was wrong.
There is actually a bit of justice in that.
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