Three Strikes

“Pitch the ball already! It’s getting late!”

“I am! Stop rushing me!” She executed her signature wind-up and hurled the ball straight down the middle.

“Strike two!”

“That wasn’t a strike!”

“Sure was. Right in the sweet spot. Looks like your sister has been practicing.”

“Oh, shut up, Frank.”

“That’s Umpire Frank to you.”

“Whatever. Pitch!”

Janis wound up and let it fly. Again, straight down the middle.

“Strike Three! You’re outta there!”

“That’s it. I’m going home.” In frustration, Jimmy tossed his bat, hopped on his bike, and pedaled towards home. He stopped by the concession stand, turned towards his sister, and called out.

“You coming or what?!”

Janis tossed the ball to Frank.

“See you later, I guess.”

“What’s his problem?” asked Frank.

“No idea.”

Janis hopped onto the back of Jimmy’s bike, and they began the ride home.

“Why are you so upset today? Did I do something wrong?” Janis asked.

“No. I’m sorry. You pitched really well, sis. Just like I taught you,” he responded while giving her a playful nudge.

“You didn’t teach me. Daddy did.”

“Yeah, I wish he was around to give you more lessons.”

After that, Jimmy fell silent. Their father was deployed a couple of years ago, and neither Jimmy nor his father, Big Jim, had been the same since.

They chatted online a few times a week, but it wasn’t like when they used to play catch together.

Jimmy took on the responsibilities — practicing with Janis and helping his mom around the house — and the burden was becoming heavy.

“You’re home early. How was practice?” their mother asked.

Ignoring her, Jimmy ran upstairs to his room and slammed the door.

“What happened?”

“He got upset when I struck him out and just stormed off the field.”

“You struck him out? Wow! You’re getting good, sweetheart! I mean, oh, that’s too bad for Jimmy.”

“He mentioned Daddy. That he wished he was here.”

“Yeah, it’s been tough on everyone. But he’ll be home for Thanksgiving. It’s only a few months away.”

Overhearing the conversation, Jimmy shouted, “Yeah, then he leaves again for another gazillion months!”

“I know, sweetheart, but it’s not your dad’s fault. He’s just doing his duty.”

“His duty is to this family, Mom.”

Jimmy stormed toward the back door.

“Where are you going? Dinner is ready, honey.”

“I’m going to say hi to Roscoe.”

“Okay.”

Jimmy walked around the back to the garage and gave Roscoe a pat on his head.

“Hey, boy. Here you go,” handing Roscoe some leftover popcorn from the game. Roscoe gobbled it down eagerly.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop feeding Roscoe junk food, champ?”

“Daddy?!”