My Spectacular Mitt

Dear Nick,

Do you remember the time we won the quarter final in the State Tournament? It is two outs, bottom of the last inning, and we are up by one. Bases loaded and their best hitter comes up to the plate. I am playing shortstop and the only thing I’m thinking about is the batter hitting the ball to me. I want so badly to make the final play to end the game.

Our pitcher is going for a complete game, and to get the win, he only needs one more out. Pressure is on, who is more clutch; the big, bad, three hitter up to bat, or the southpaw on the mound. Ping, I hear the ball explode off the bat, I am on my toes and my instincts kick in. The ball is hit to my backhand and I range about four steps to my right, pick the ball up on a short hop, and launch it across the diamond. First thing I hear is the baseball pop into the first basemen’s mitt just milliseconds before the runner lunges onto the bag. The umpire screams OUT and the ball game is over. We advanced to the State Semifinal! I could not have made that play without the trustworthy, black and tan, extension of my hand, my leather mitt.

I also wouldn’t have gotten to where I am today without my Dad. He is the reason I have loved the game since I was five years old, playing t-ball at Indian Creek. He has spent countless hours in the front yard with me, and I’m so thankful for his dedication to making me the best I can be. I don’t know where I’d be without him; he is my hero and an inspiration. Last winter, he smashed his hand in a wood splitter and has been going through physical therapy ever since. He told my sister and me he works hard in rehab so he can continue to play catch with us. My Dad has shown me that through hard work and determination anything is possible.

Hard work and determination is exactly what my mitt represents to me. In addition, my mitt represents the dedication to never give up, and the perseverance to keep fighting even after a 0-7 day at the plate with two errors. Without my mitt I couldn’t have spent those countless hours at the dirt field with the yellow fence and the cement dugouts training to be the best I can be. My mitt is a symbol of determination. I put trust into it to make tough plays with me and I know it will always be there for me, just like my Dad.