I was never athletic. Actually, I was born with my big toes turned in and had to wear braces on my legs when I was a toddler and then heavy orthopedic shoes until I was ten. That may have accounted for my lack of athletic prowess. But maybe not.
My parents encouraged me to try sports occasionally. In third grade, I played softball. My father was even one of the coaches. I was the catcher. When I was up to bat, I usually popped out or was tagged out on first base. It happened week in and week out. No one was enthusiastic when it was my turn at bat; including me.
One day, near the end of the season, all of that changed for a few moments. I hit the ball to the second baseman who over-threw first just as I was nearing it. The coach told me to run to second. I followed orders and started for the next base. The first baseman finally got the ball and threw it to second. The ball and I got to second at about the same time but so did the second baseman AND the shortstop. There was a mad scramble which, no lie, enabled me to crawl between the infielders and run to third base. When the second baseman realized I was gone, she over-threw third base. The third base coach was yelling loudly, “RUN HOME!!!”
Despite my lack of sport talent, I can say I hit a home run. Once. It may not have been a spectacular, out of the ballpark kind of event, but it was one never to be forgotten.