Did any of you ladies out there ever have one of those batons that you twirl when you were little? You know, the kind with the big rubber knob on one end, and a smaller one on the other end. Did any of you get good at twirling it?
One of my sisters had one, and she could kind of twirl it with one hand. But she couldn't do diddly with it in the other hand, so it did not get used much. It sat in the garage collecting dust.
Until one day.
We decided to play basball and could not find the bat. We had a tennis ball and mitts, but NO bat. Now I do not remember which one of us came up with the idea to use the baton as a bat. (In our family we always came up with a way to make up games that no one has heard of.)
Now outside of our back yard is this HUGE field and the back fence with no gate to the field. So instead of taking our game to the field we decided to play in our own backyard. Our dad was in the kitchen of our house and could see us from the kitchen window.
We picked out where 1st, 2nd, and 3rd base was. Our field was set, small as it was. My sister decided that SHE was going to be the first to bat. What could I do? She was the oldest and bigger than me. Plus there were only the two us us at the time to play.
So up to home plate she went. Home plate was a paper plate that we nailed to the yard with a huge nail that we used as one of the tent stakes for the family tent. My dad never could seem to have all the tent stakes when he needed them. (He seemed to lose lots of things over the years after we got a hold of them.)
My sister took her stance and I pitched -- or more like threw -- the ball her way. I was not trying to hit her, but if it did she would take her base after chasing me down. She set on me and took her middle knuckle and rapped me in the center of my chest about a dozen times. Now with just the two of us playing, she had first base and goes back to bat again.
I rubbed my chest and this time heaved the ball at her. It's a line drive right to me! I caught the tennis ball. . . right to the crotch.
I grabbed myself and the ball and squeaked that she was out.
Now, our dad has been watching all of this through the kitchen window. Does he ask if my chest hurts from the rapping she gave me? Nope, he never saw it. BUT he did see me catch the line drive and wanted to know if I am okay then tells me to walk it off (as if I can even stand up straight).
Now it is my turn at bat. You would think that when you use a baton for a bat you would have the big knob at the top and the small knob at the bottom, as how that is what my sister did.
I had the big knob at the top for more weight on the tip as a bat. I was gonna knock that tennis ball a full two backyards. I was ready. She threw the ball. Swing and a miss. Second ball, swing and a miss. Now I'm really mad and holler at her to throw it right. Seems every throw was to the wrong side. I'm left handed and she kept throwing it behind me. (I found out later that she was trying to hit me in the butt.)
Our dad, of course, hollers that if we can't play nice we can't play at all. We say okay. Next pitch: wind up. . . swing. IT'S A HIT! TWICE!
I hit the ball and it sailed over her head. She jumped up trying to catch it and the big knob came off the baton. She missed the ball as it went over her head and that BIG knob hit her right in the thigh and swept her feet right out behind her.
She screamed. I made it to 1st base. She was on the ground, still screaming, and I was almost to 2nd base. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something coming out the back door. It was our dad. I never made it to 3rd base. Instead, I cleared the back fence by about a foot. My dad had to slow down enough to make it over the fence. By the time he cleared the fence, I was on top of the hill in the field and was putting quite a bit of distance between me and my dad.
Now, my dad never did catch up to me. And it seems that I stayed out in that field for several hours. My sister came and got me later after the swelling went down on her leg. You know, that big knob from that baton left a big blue and purple bruise on her leg. Of course, she played it up like SHE was really hurt. HA! Bet it didn't hurt as much as the line drive I caught.
When I got home, I was read the riot act by our parents. You know, "YOU COULD HAVE REALLY HURT SOME ONE! YOU COULD HAVE PUT AN EYE OUT! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!"
Well, we thought it was a good idea. But we never did play baton ball again.