My Father Lloyd had a beloved Boston Bull Dog, Bossey. I was about seven or eight years old when our cub Scout pack went to a ball game. I think it was at Harrisburg, PA.
We enjoyed the action of seeing the game from the bleachers for the first time. None of the men in our families were sports minded. It was a very big deal for me. I had a few dollars for food and souvenirs. I gave up the food, and bought a miniature baseball bat that had the name of the team on it. I was amazed, in grade school the only game we played was kick ball. We knew nothing of baseball.
We enjoyed the action of seeing the game from the bleachers for the first time. None of the men in our families were sports minded. It was a very big deal for me. I had a few dollars for food and souvenirs. I gave up the food, and bought a miniature baseball bat that had the name of the team on it. I was amazed, in grade school the only game we played was kick ball. We knew nothing of baseball.
When I got home I proudly showed everyone my new prized possession. I thought baseball was something new, and I was the first one to see it. It was about twelve inches long. Tapered, at the thick end and thinner where your hands grasp the bat. A mushroom like cap at the end. A mind blowing discovery for my young mind. I took it everywhere so I could show everyone the fantastic prize I had bought. I was telling people I had a bat for a great new game. I knew this game would be a big deal someday.
Bossey was laying on the floor near me. I played with him a lot. We were great friends. He played with me, but mostly slept with Dad. He liked to lick faces, shoot gas, and just be a good friend.
I was swinging my bat like the baseball players I saw at the game. I spun around, and pretended I was running to first base. The bar left my hand, and flew toward Bossey, and hit him on his forehead. He made no sound, just dropped to the floor. He got up, and staggered a little bit, and went to Dad on the couch. Dad rubbed his head, and everyone in the room burst out laughing. Including my little brother Mike. He was about 2 1/2 years old.
We all left the room, except daddy. We went to the kitchen for ice cream. I got a lecture about being careful with toys. Daddy was watching Mike. About ten minutes later Daddy came out to the kitchen. He told mom to get some ice and put it in a dishrag. He had a big bump on the back of his head. My cherished miniature baseball bat disappeared. I was told it was too dangerous for Mike and I to play with it.
I wondered for years what happened to my bat. One time we had company and my mom told the story of what happened to my bat. Daddy was the only one who was not laughing. I did not think it was funny either, I missed my bat!!
I was swinging my bat like the baseball players I saw at the game. I spun around, and pretended I was running to first base. The bar left my hand, and flew toward Bossey, and hit him on his forehead. He made no sound, just dropped to the floor. He got up, and staggered a little bit, and went to Dad on the couch. Dad rubbed his head, and everyone in the room burst out laughing. Including my little brother Mike. He was about 2 1/2 years old.
We all left the room, except daddy. We went to the kitchen for ice cream. I got a lecture about being careful with toys. Daddy was watching Mike. About ten minutes later Daddy came out to the kitchen. He told mom to get some ice and put it in a dishrag. He had a big bump on the back of his head. My cherished miniature baseball bat disappeared. I was told it was too dangerous for Mike and I to play with it.
I wondered for years what happened to my bat. One time we had company and my mom told the story of what happened to my bat. Daddy was the only one who was not laughing. I did not think it was funny either, I missed my bat!!
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