The Legend
Jake Wallis, the greatest pitcher of all time. My father. I am very fond of this man. Looking at all the trophies and accolades he had gathered since his high school days, I could not help but be proud to be the son of lefty. People called my dad lefty because he used his left hand to pitch, earning 25 wins in 10 seasons. His portrait hung on our living room wall. And I loved to look at it. Look at this olive-skinned man, with a red cap embroidered with a white letter S, a white baseball shirt written Giants, the team for which he played, and red undersleeves. On his right hand was a baseball, which he had signed, and on the left, a worn-out but shinny baseball glove. His wide glowing eyes and Duchenne smile spoke of victory and happiness. My father loved that picture. He said it was the game of his life. Firstly, because his team had won the game. Secondly, because he met my mother in the field.
My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. Mother was reminding me it was almost time to leave for the tryout at the local club. I was eagerly awaiting this day and would sleep awake, dreaming, and hoping to be selected on the team. I wore my uniform, which strangely, and to my amusement, resembled my father’s clothes on that portrait. I believed I would be a winner. We quickly left the house and headed straight to Minks, where hundreds of other hopeful baseball players were waiting.
“So, how do you feel about today,” my mother asked. I pondered that question. I gazed outside, stared at the endless, empty, grassy field, and took a deep breath. “Nervous and very excited. My emotions are all over the place.” My mother assured me that all would be well. “You are Jake’s son. That, my sweetheart, is already an advantage to you. You’ll see.” I mulled over those words. The feeling of victory sunk in my brain, and I began to smile. In fact, I let out a little laugh. A victory laugh. I was ready for the tryout.