The summer that Calvin was 5, we had just adopted him and he had very poor oxygen saturation in his blood from his heart defect.
The summer that Calvin was 6, he was recovering from heart surgery.
The summer that Calvin was 7, our family moved states and spent 2.5 months in Oklahoma waiting for the AF to figure out where to send me.
The summer that Calvin was 8, the local little league did not have any openings (apparently you have to register in the middle of winter if you want to play baseball).
Calvin is now 9 and playing baseball for the first time in his life. He is smaller than the other kids and is several years behind in learning the game.
His first game did not go well. He struck out twice and got hit by the ball while trying to field a grounder. He just finished his second game. He got on base twice with a walk. The second time that he was on base, the game was tied. He made his way to third. When a wild pitch got past the catcher, the coach told Calvin to steal home. I'm not sure he knew what exactly everything meant, but he ran for home plate. He made it and won the game. His teammates were cheering for him, and his coach lifted him up on his shoulders as the hero of the day. Afterwards, Calvin excitedly told my wife, "Mama, I got two homeruns!"
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