Not the Best Idea ...

It wasn't the best decision I've ever made, as subsequent events would certify.

Yesterday, visiting our son and his family for a Memorial Day cookout, I impulsively asked my 14-yr-old grandson, Logan, if he wanted to pitch some Wiffle Ball to me out in the back yard.

Did he ever! He's a pitcher--and a good one--on his summer team, and the thought of whiffing his grandfather must have seemed even better than the sourdough bread he'd just eaten. (I won't say where that bread came from.)

So ... out to the back yard we went. I loosened up a little with the plastic bat while Logan arranged the other particulars--a home plate, etc.

After a few errant tosses, he grooved one, and I nailed it--liner into left-center. Possible double.

But ...

... I felt myself stumble a little during the follow-through--a little reminder of my Old-Man Vertigo--a gift from my age, from my medications. I dismissed the feeling.  I can handle this!

No.

A few more pitches--friendly debates about the strike zone--then ...

Logan grooved another one.

I swung ferociously. I missed. I was immediately on the ground, my head arriving first to greet Mother Earth with a jarring thud! My glasses went somewhere. And I lay there, momentarily stunned. It had happened so fast, I'd had no time to throw up an arm to break the fall.

Family gathered around. Our daughter-in-law (who teaches at the Nursing School at Kent State) asked me some questions--What year is it? Etc. I answered them. Struggled into a chair they'd brought out to the yard. Felt like a fool.

I became the pitcher for a couple of minutes. Watched while Logan nailed my offerings.  Then headed slowly inside, carrying with me some realizations:

• My Diamond Days are over.
• Wiffle Ball is too much for me.
• I must never do such a thoughtless thing again.
• I want to play baseball.
• I want to be young and healthy again.
• That ain't gonna happen.
• I want it to happen.
• That ain't gonna happen.
• I want it to happen.
• That ain't...

You know ...

I woke up this morning with sore ribs (where I hit the ground?), with a bit of a bruise on my forehead, with a bit of redness on my nose (where my glasses were knocked from me), with a bit of sorrow (okay, a lot of sorrow) about Career's End.