Our Team (My Pizza Baseball Team Story)

At the beginning,
I didn't know.
And it seems like when you don't know you lean towards
No.
But I wanted to be bold.
I wanted to be remembered.
I wanted to tell stories to my kids and family later in life. 

It started on a cold, wet, snowy night.
(It might have been snowing or it might not have, the details are fuzzy.)
Headlights danced across the driveway.
We went inside. I stared at the manequin of a fire fighter while my dad signed me up.
"Name, age, tshirt size," the guy at the counter droned. 
"10, but she'll be eleven soon," was the reply. 
I waited and waited.
"Baseball or softball?" 
This time I turned around quickly.
"Baseball."
the guys laughed at me. 
I hated it. 
But I went with it.
One of them said,
"Good," and I beamed. 

Then, there was another night.
In a gym.
In a high school. 
On top of a hill.
I ran and threw balls and put batting helmets on. 
I made it. 
It wasn't a tryout, it was more like an evaluation (which is kind of a dumb name but that's what it was called.)
I was sweaty but I did it.
And then I got put on a team.
A baseball team.
A real, honest-to-goodness, Little League baseball team. Named after a pizza place.
I was scared to death.

At first, I didn't know any of their names. I didn't know them. But,
Gradually,
I did. I knew the people who were good and the people who were new. They knew me. And I was the only girl.
We had games together.
And soon, 
We learned to laugh together. It was the best feeling ever, laughing with these people. Even if I was a little out of place.

Today,
I am so proud of them.
We won. 
We pulled it together.
We were a team. 
We did it. We pulled back.
We high fived. 
We encouraged.
Their team did it.
No.
My team did it.
No.
Our team did it.
We did it. 



 

NiñaEstrella

VT

16 years old

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