I don’t remember much about playing baseball in the fifth grade. I was an outfielder, but I don’t remember if I played left or right field that year. I don’t remember if I hit at the top of the order, or if I hit sixth.
My main memory of that year is one specific incident. I don’t remember the context, but either during or after a game, one of the players was hassling another player.
“Hey!” I heard my dad’s booming voice yell. “He’s your teammate.” Dad didn’t have to add the words, “cut it out,” because the bully understood. Dad’s stern rebuke, plus the glares from the coaches put an end to it.
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