The Greatest Catch!

Growing up with an older brother who adored me had its advantages. I was not only regularly doted upon by him, but was also surrounded by his best friends who, instead of treating me as a constant nuisance, adopted me as their own and doted upon me, too. When building forts, my brother, Brandon, and his friends incorporated my love of princesses, by building me my own throne room, and, as knights, protected me against intruders and dragons. They fetched me my royal tea, my royal Oreo, or my royal kitty without complaint or question, chivalrous to the core.

When ensconced in war, GI Joe permitted my Barbie regular (conjugal) visits at his base camp, and was occasionally seen driving his Jeep around the dusty carpeted roads of our deserted living room.

When wrestling, Brandon and his friends took pleasure in body slamming me, as well as implementing the pile driver and the sleeper hold. Taking pity on my small size, they often allowed me the pleasure of jumping from the top rope (the arm of our couch), and with spaghetti thin limbs flying, tackling them to the ground for the count of three. They even went so far as to dub me THE GOLDEN “A”.

When performing gymnastics in the living room, or on our small patch of front lawn, Brandon and his friends never shied away from acting as judges, holding up their fingers in perfect tens, or, in the rare instance, disappointing eights. I frequently accompanied them to the bike path, creek, and local comic book store, where Brandon introduced me to Dazzler and She-Hulk, women with incredibly liberating powers.

 However, it was playing sports with the boys that I most enjoyed. Though I loved all things girly as a child (including princesses, ballet, and Barbie), I would eagerly drop my tiaras, tutus, and tits for the opportunity to climb trees, navigate the rocks by the creek’s edge, and tackle the boys in a game of football.

Not only did I love these outdoor activities, but I was determined to prove that, despite the differences in our age (five years), size, and sex, I could run, hit, kick, shoot and suffer a beating just as well as any boy, particularly my brother. I unconsciously knew that if I wanted to continue to receive invites into my brother’s world, I would, in fact, have to keep up.

Though my brother and his friends always treated me with respect, it was on a spring day playing baseball with Brandon and one of his best friends, Tommy, that I earned my own special place among them by making the greatest catch in history.

I preferred to be batting, or even pitching, rather than banished to the outfield where balls flew in every direction but my glove. However, complaining was not going to get me what I wanted. Therefore, I stood staring at Brandon and Tommy as they participated in the ritual dance of PITCH, SWING…PITCH, SWING, HIT, and CATCH. The dandelions and clouds were beginning to look more interesting than this game. I could be making wishes and imagining wild worlds made from white stuff. Instead, I stood on the outside, looking in on the fun.

However, just as my impatience with the lack of action I was receiving began to reach a fevered pitch, I heard a CRACK! A loud one! I began frantically searching the cloud-scattered sky for the small white ball. Suddenly spotting it coming in my direction, I began to calculate its exact location and move accordingly. Specifically backward. Back, back, back I went as the ball came closer, and closer. Reaching skyward, I felt the ball hit my glove just as my feet left the ground.

Landing on my back with a THUD, I felt my lungs empty themselves immediately. Gasping for breath, unable to fill my lungs, panic set in, and tears began to wriggle forcefully through my dirt caked tear ducts. Blinking, I gazed skyward to see Brandon and Tommy looming over me, smiles illuminating their faces with excitement. “That was awesome!” My brother exclaimed. Confused and still crying, but now able to breathe, I lifted my head, only to notice that I lay in the playground that bordered the baseball field, having tripped over the curb that separated the two. My glove, still firmly situated on my hand, encased the baseball. “That had to be the greatest catch ever!” my brother shouted, while grasping my hand and pulling me to my feet. Still shaken, and bleeding from my elbows, tears continued to stream down my face while joy began seeping into my conscious.

Brandon and Tommy continued to emote while lifting me onto their shoulders. With shouts and cheers of exhilarating disbelief, the two carried me home straddling their shoulders, while I laughed and cried the whole way. For the rest of the day, we animatedly recalled the events leading up the catch, as well as the catch itself. I fell into bed that evening exhausted, yet deeply gratified.

As I grew older, Brandon and his friends, continued to include me in their daily activities. I frequently found myself standing in the outfield during baseball games. Though I was never able to make another catch of the same caliber, I was able to earn my place among Brandon and his friends; a place one-step above annoying little sister.