Softball practice.   12 little girls – the definition of juxtaposition- dirty and dusty with their pink helmets and bats. Well, except for mine of course, hers were blue….I watched them throw the ball, some of them with near perfect accuracy, and others, well, they threw like girls.  (I can say that, because they are girls….) I watched the coaches work with them to refine how they held the ball, how to position their arm, where to place their feet.   They looked at their coaches intently and I could see that in their minds they were really trying to work this out.  Try after try they got a little better and then better still. Their faces lighting up with surprise each time the ball landed in their mitt, eventually that surprise turning to knowing confidence.   They swung their bats tirelessly. Over and over waiting for the tinny clink of the bat connecting with the ball.  Didn’t matter if they missed or hit the ball, they wanted to do it again and again.  For an hour I watched this, full of wonder and pride for these little girls all of which had never played this game before. I loved their energy, their intentness, their willingness to learn, to try again. Their sense of satisfaction at their little accomplishments.   But most of all,  I loved their comfort.  There was nothing to prove.  There was no question in their minds. They just knew they belonged here.

I was so taken in by this scene that  I hardly noticed the little girl that wandered up next to me.   She had her hands wrapped in the fence, her face pressed against it.  She was watching as intently as I was.  We stood side by side for what seemed like a long time and finally she turned up and looked at me.  “Do they let boys play this game?”

My eyes prickled and I fought the urge to pick her up and squeeze her and swing her round and round.  I looked down at her and quietly said “Sometimes.”