Thursday night, Jay had a soccer game in Bowie. It's not been a nice Spring here in Maryland with temperatures much colder than normal. But Thursday was a beautiful day and, when we got to the park shortly before 7PM, it was still 72 degrees. The park was hopping. There were families on the playground, kids in the skate park, pick-up games taking place on the basketball court, lacrosse teams practicing, and a couple of soccer games in progress.
As we walked from the car to the field where Jay was going to play his game, I thought about what the park must look like. I've read stories about people from other countries recounting what stuck out to them when they first visited America. The one I liked best was about a new immigrant from Eastern Europe who went to a grocery store shortly after arriving in the U.S. He was overwhelmed as he looked at aisle after aisle of fresh, prepared, and packaged foods. His initial thought was that the grocery store was staged just to impress new arrivals like him. He refused to buy anything and asked that his companion (who'd lived here for a while) take him to the store where "regular" people shopped. He couldn't be convinced that this was where regular people shopped so his companion took him to a second, and then a third, grocery store. Finally, he got it -- America truly was the land of plenty.
As we got to Jay's field, I was thinking that the scene at the park was my slice of Americana. And then I saw the icing on my slice of cake. Next to Jay's field was a baseball diamond. It was empty except for one guy on the pitching mound. He looked to be about 30 years old. He had on a baseball cap, an athletic brace on his right knee, and a pair of gloves like the type worn by NFL receivers. In his right hand, he held a kickball. You read that right -- a kickball. As I watched, he went into a slow and deliberate pitching motion and "pitched" the kickball towards home plate. But this wasn't a regular pitch, it was a curveball! It broke perfectly as it rolled towards the plate. The guy watched it with satisfaction. Then he picked up another kickball (he'd brought several with him to the mound) and repeated the routine. I don't know how long the guy was on the diamond before we got there but he continued his practice routine for a good 15 minutes after we arrived before packing up and heading home.
As I watched him leave, I didn't know what to think. Should I be happy that life is so carefree in America that grown men devote their free time to practicing their kickball pitching skills? Or should I be embarassed? I've thought about it a lot over the past two days and I've decided I like that this guy was practicing his kickball pitching. He was doing what he wanted to do. Who am I to say there's something wrong with that?
This is where the magic happens.
