One of my memories at around 4 years old…it’s a grey, cool, overcast early afternoon. My dad’s at work and my sister is still at school. My mom’s busy cleaning the house, or too tired from cleaning and doesn’t have the energy to play with me. We’d just moved on the military base and I don’t recall there being neighbor kids around my age; most were a year older and also in school. I decide to play in the backyard by myself. I grab my plastic yellow bat and a white, scuffed plastic ball the size of a grapefruit. I toss the ball straight up in the air till it nearly reaches the treetops….I get into batting position – knees bent, front left elbow relaxed…I follow the ball with my eyes at it makes its descent…bat and ball connect and I crack it like a piñata with all my might. In my head: applause and amazement – “look at this child! she’s an amazing young athlete who can play all by herself!” In reality: I looked like this little dog playing catch with a machine. Sad and lonely.