One of my favorite things is throwing baseball in the back yard. It's a simple pleasure, I know. But it's one that I look forward to every chance I get. That's probably because it reminds me of my own childhood.
Every day, my father would get home at the same time. And every day, he'd find me waiting for him, ball in hand. I can still see him coming up the brick walkway, setting down his black briefcase, loosening his tie, taking off his watch and putting it in his pocket, and slipping on his glove for a catch.
Now, I'm the dad. It's a beautiful day. I think I'll go home and see if my sons would like to have a catch.
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