Personal Narrative: Tether Ball

Most people are all grown up when they finally figure out what they want to do with their life. I was 4. I realized what I wanted to be when I attended my very first Rodeo. Even though it was so long ago I can remember that day like it was yesturday. That day got me on the path to my future.

I was frantically mowing through the pile of life jackets trying to find one that fit me. I reacher for a red one with gray fringing the edge and swung it around my shoulders. To my surprise it fit! My younger cousin came strolling over over looked at the life jacket I had on and came rushing over. His name is Zane, he had bright red hair that was naturally curly, and stood no taller than my chest. He pointed at the life jacket I was wearing and stated that it was his. I reluctantly took it off and gave it to him. Once again I was jacketless. I picked up a yellow, black, and red one but it was to big. I picked up an all red one, to SMALL!! Suddenly my Uncle Mark is by me

Could we get to the ball? If we don’t get the ball they well recover it. It was one of our first games in September. Our record was one, one and one. That means we won once, lost once, and tied once. It was at Unity Field (Home). We were started at 4:30.

Have you ever watched a game of T-ball? You’re watching kids with hats far too big for their heads, or bats too heavy for their arms to swing; it is adorable. I was one of those kids, and during a T-ball game the first signs of an issue that would haunt me for years to come appeared. In the dugout during a t-ball game, I was sitting on a bench waiting to go up to bat. A teammate asked me if the player currently up to bat was my brother. I turned to him and said, “That is my brodder.” He looked confused and responded with “He is your budder?” “No,” I countered, “He is my broffer.” With an even more confused look he asked me again, “He is your buffer?” Now I was annoyed. I thought I sounded normal, but he was looking at me like I had a third eye. “He. is. My. broffer!” I said, exaggerating the word slowly and condescendingly. That is where the memory cuts off. I don’t remember whether he finally understood what I was trying to say, or if I just gave up in frustration. Although this casual conversation may seem like a one time thing, it was not. My mispronunciation problem would follow me into fruition.

It was a dark thursday night in April. The sky was clear enough to see the moon shining brightly along with many small circular diamonds. I’m in a dark blue Avalanche, being driven to a baseball diamond. I play for the MIlwaukee Brewers on a little league level. It’s my last game of the season, and I can’t wait for the umpire to say the words “Play Ball” (which states that the game has begun).

It all started at the beginning of tryouts. The week of excitement and nervousness. Everyone was already making guesses on who was gonna be on the team. Then so it started, the first day was pretty easy and so was the next. The third was conditioning day, which was the worst. Then the last two days were fairly easy too. But those days were the most nerve racking. Those were the days when the cuts were made.

As the crowd was cheering as the game went on I was on the edge of my seat. At the time my family was visiting California for the first time. We all had a blast and before we wanted to leave all of us wanted to go to a baseball game. As we were walking to the stadium all of the hard core fans were getting hyped for the game. All of them playing games in the parking lot.It felt like I was meant to be at the game. I was rooting for the angels at the time because the rest of the crowd was. My dad was taking pictures of the players throwing,catching,and making plays. I remember as the game was getting close to the end that I had to get cotton candy. Cotton candy was one

I started out in T-ball. I developed an interest in T-ball after I had gone to my sisters T-ball game. My mom signed me up for the park and rec T-ball team, coached by one of my friends’ dad. I remember instead of listening to the coach, my friends and I would always play around in the soft, brown sand. I would think that because my friends and I would play in the sand, that is the reason I did not understand the concept of the game at first.

I wrestled in fourth grade and then I stopped. I started again in seventh grade.

Over my spring break I was lucky enough to get to go to Florida with my college baseball team and I got to see one if the most beautiful baseball stadiums in the US, JetBlue Park. I got to watch Florida Gulf Coast take on Florida State at JetBlue Park, which is used as a spring training field for the Boston Red Sox. My initial thought of the field is it’s almost exactly like Fenway Park with the same field layout, the big green monster in left field. Which surprised me because this was only a spring training field, very few games will be played or broadcasted here. This ballpark was unexpectedly nice and an experience I will never forget.

While standing on deck, waiting anxiously to get up to bat, my team-mates and I cheered loud hoping that we would win. As I walked up to the plate my coach, Jacob Kidd, looked at me and said, “Get the job done.” That was not supposed to make me nervous or anything was it? I knew that I had to get a base hit, so I just got up there and done my best. After I hit, Danielle, Lauren, and Jolie was next; and I knew that they would do what needed to be done. Jolie hit a long fly ball to the right center field fence; however, she did not get on base because they sprinted to catch it. Before we knew it, three outs had already passed; we hustled towards the dugouts to grab our gloves and go back out on defense. I talked to Katie Grace Payne, our pitcher;

Over the years, I’ve been blessed with the opportunity in being the twirling instructor for Goldthwaite Middle and High School. I have gained a lot physically and mentally while working with these young girls. Throughout this process I’ve realized I am not perfect and still growing. Which is why when I received a new twirler last year, I knew I had to step up my skills.

Tom and I were all set to present our 4th Battle of the Classes at an all-school meeting. We had each taken time to prepare every aspect of our “hula-hoop battle” in the days prior, dividing up tasks such as recruiting volunteers from each grade and procuring four hula-hoops. Since all of our previous competitions had gone off without a hitch, we went into this all-school meeting feeling confident about our plan. When our names were called, we walked up to the stage. The audience, used to our faces at this point, applauded in anticipation. Tom went out into the seats and signaled to our volunteers, while I laid the four hula-hoops on stage within an arm’s length of each other. As we counted down from ten, the four contestants took their places,

I was 8 years old and my brother was 12 years old at the time. This incident took place on a trampoline. It was a nice day out and we were having fun outside. Our aunt and uncle was inside the house watching TV.

The stickers say “Caution Heavy 35 lbs. and over,” and were from the United States Postal Service. I assumed they were for shipping packages over 35 pounds, and to tell people to be cautious because the package is heavy. In the video I watched someone was opening packages that fans sent him. Someone