A Gift

Because he works nights, my husband does not get many waking daylight hours with his children. We have had three bright, gorgeous sunny days here in a row, and he has missed most of them by needing to sleep, which has been heartbreaking for all of us, since we have not seen the sun since, oh, September or so. But Saturday we were given the beautiful gift of both a sunny day and Daddy awake at the same time, and we celebrated by going outside and spending time in our much-neglected backyard. I cleaned up dead leaves, trimmed branches, and planted flower seeds while the girls took turns hitting a plastic softball off of a purple plastic tee with a pink bat. Jeff sat on the deck, trying to wake up by slowly blinking his nocturnal eyes, which were understandably unaccustomed to such brilliance. But then came the words that roused him from his comatose state and drew him into the game: "Daddy, pitch to me!" Our six year old, squealing those words in delight, nearly broke her Daddy's heart with joy. He loves baseball, and I think he had pretty much given up the dream of having an athlete after seeing her do "ballet" in the living room, which is usually a combination of Elaine Bennis's dancing from Seinfeld and kung fu. But she has grown more coordinated as of late, and they seized that afternoon in the sunshine to play baseball together. He pitched, she swung, and that plastic ball made contact, sailing through the clear, bright air over and over. Once it even cleared the neighbor's fence, and we met our neighbors for the first time as I asked to get it back. It was a gorgeous day, a beautiful time, and a memory that my husband will treasure in his storehouse of precious things that keep him going through the rough times, which are many and often these days. What a gift, to pitch plastic baseballs to his little girl at her request; what an unforgettable gift.