My Wound

I have a wound on my hand today. My left hand to be exact. And this wound I wear with pride. Allot of pride. It isn't that much of a wound. The upper palm, right below my fingers, is swollen and tender. How did I get such a weird wound you ask. Easy, baseball.

Amazing baseball.

Baseball with my Dad. Baseball I haven't played with my Dad in years. It was magical.

So today I wear the wound with pride. And the second this wound is gone and I can catch balls again you will find me at the park playing. Because I'm 88 days and counting. And that my friend means baseball with my Dad, magical baseball that ended at the tender age of thirteen when I showed I was too wimpy to actually catch the ball, is back on. 88 days of the sport I didn't know I loved. But most importantly: 88 days with my Dad.