
I am going to give you all, beloved readers, a slice of the life of a starving writer. I was lying in bed last night thinking of all the ways I had failed in life - failed at relationships, jobs, writing, you name it. I was racking my brain for a single thing in my life I had ever done well. Do you know what came to mind? A catch. A really sweet catch.
In the words of
Sophia Petrillo, "Picture it. Northern Virginia, mid-1990s." An eight-year-old Margaret Perry was playing first base in a
Chantilly Youth Association softball game. I couldn't tell you the score if I wanted to, but at some point the batter hit a solid line drive my way. Without batting an eye I reached across and caught the ball with a backhand. Out! It was an awesome catch and everybody on that field knew it.
So, here I am - a twenty-something struggling to make ends meet in a world that does not celebrate history/English lit. liberal arts graduates. And the one moment of personal glory I can claim without hesitation is an epic catch I made on the softball field over a decade ago. As I write this, I am remembering a dozen or so other examples of great plays I made on that field. Like that sweet grounder I hit into left field, right past the short stop. Or that time I got a huge strawberry sliding into third. Or the time I lobbed it from third to first, making an amazing double play.