Childhood Baseball
Childhood Baseball
By John L. Skarl
The baseball signed by the 1954 Cleveland Indians
The baseball my father pitched in High School
The baseball no one was able to hit
The baseball I couldn’t hit
The baseball that hit me
The baseball dad spray-painted orange
Learning baseball
The baseball that stung my hand
The baseball I tried to hit over the fence for Dad
The baseball I hit over the fence for no one
The baseball I fouled off
The baseball that broke the window
Baseballs my dog fielded better than me
The baseball flew crooked
The baseball that landed on my coach’s foot
The baseball I still couldn’t hit
The baseball I caught in right field
The baseball that soared over my head
The baseball that cried in public
Baseball shaped cupcakes
Baseball that died in a house fire
Baseball they buried in uniform
The baseball broke open
The baseball unwound
The signed baseball
The baseball that moved away
The baseball I don’t watch enough of
Baseball on the radio
The baseball my dog ran off with
The baseball I only call on Sundays
Strike-Three-Ball
The baseball I traded for a basketball
The baseball left forgotten on a roof
John L. Skarl earned an MFA in fiction writing from the NEO MFA consortium in 2009, where he was recognized as a Coulter emerging poet and writer, and won the Marian Smith Short Story Award with “Midnight Service.” He recently placed fiction with Empty Sink Publishing, and Driftwood Press – where he served as a seasonal editor.
William Scherbarth is six years old and lives in Birmingham, Michigan. He has two dogs, a sister, a dad, and a mom. In his free time, he likes playing with trains and painting. He was inspired by the fireworks in The Falling Rocket painting by James Abbott McNeill Whistler. He imagined this as a home run ball on Opening Day.