My Memories Of My Life

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The air was beginning to cool as the sun set just behind the trees beyond the left field wall. I dug my cleats into the dirt inside the batters box until I felt grounded and secure. Looking down I touched each corner of the plate with my bat as I had done so many times before. Slowly, I lifted my head and initiated the stare down with the pitcher, focusing on the position of his throwing hand preparing myself for the same sequence I had experienced a thousand times. Over my left shoulder, I could hear my coach voice his last words of encouragement and say, “let it rip” as he stood just off the third base line. I was in my element. Everything felt so familiar, yet the result would be quite different this time and the first game of my senior season would unknowingly shape the next 8 years of my life. Baseball was introduced into my life at a very early age. Some of my earliest memories are of my mother and I in the front yard playing catch. My mother always made sure to step in and fill the void of not having my father around. Unexpectedly, the same game of baseball that brought us closer together eventually placed more physical distance between us than I ever thought there would be. Just like many other kids across America, playing baseball as a profession became a dream of mine. It was a dream my cousin Gavin and I would fantasize about, as we played out our own version of the World Series in my front yard. We used the yard lights as our very own stadium lights and the

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