THE BALL GAME

The women, old men, and little children sat on the long rough picnic benches under the trees to watch the ball game. Jenny fussed a little when Daddy went out to the field to play. She didn’t want him way out there; she wanted him here with them.

Sometimes on a Sunday afternoon, the young men of the neighborhood would gather for a baseball game at the picnic grounds near the creek. Their families and assorted neighbors formed a cluster of spectators. It provided inexpensive recreation for them, the neighborly, hard working farming community of the depression years.

The day was going badly for Jenny. It was a hot, dry, and dusty July afternoon and she felt uncomfortable and restless. Margaret was allowed to play with some other children behind the benches, but Mother had said she must stay close to her so she wouldn’t fall in the creek. Jenny didn’t like or understand this strange game. She wriggled out of Mother’s lap and sat down in the grass in front of the benches. Just then, a foul ball whizzed toward the spectators and grazed the top of Jenny’s head. Jenny rubbed her straight brown hair in dazed surprise. Mother gathered her into her arms, kissed her head and carried her back to where she had been sitting. Jenny’s head hurt just a little, but her feelings were hurt worse. She gave forth an anguished wail and refused to be consoled. It was as though the dreadful ball had singled her out, above everyone else and had hit her deliberately. The people on the benches nearby all looked at Jenny to see if she was hurt. Jenny didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t stop the tears and sobs.

An older lady nearby said , “Well, bless her little heart. Did that nasty old ball hit her?”

This seemed to make matters worse. Jenny’s head had stopped hurting, but she was still unhappy with the way things were going, and let a few more stifled sobs escape.

“Sometimes,” Mother said to the older lady, “it’s easier just to stay home.”