The One Truth

Introduction

I remember playing Little League baseball: standing on the mound, throwing a pitch, and hitting a batter with the ball. The next batter walked up to the plate, and I hit him too. I looked over at my dad, who was the manager of the team, and he gave me a dirty look and yelled at me to throw strikes. The next batter got up and the first pitch was out of the strike zone. Then I threw another bad pitch. I looked over at my dad again and I could see the anger and frustration on his face. Each time I looked over he just stared at me and shook his head. I threw the next pitch and hit the batter in the leg. The fourth batter walked to the plate and I could see him shaking as he prepared to get hit with the ball. Everyone watching knew I couldn't find the strike zone and everyone, including him, knew what was coming next. Yes, I hit him too. My dad walked to the mound, replaced me with another pitcher, told me to go play shortstop and finally took me out of my misery. Ever since then I've been searching for ways to be mentally tough.

In eighth grade I told my mom I was depressed and thought about killing myself. She started screaming, “What do you mean you want to kill yourself? Why would you say that?!” She freaked out so much that I somehow snapped out of it to calm her down. I said, “Mom it's okay, I'll be fine,” and we never talked about it again. It's probably why, 40 years later, I'm good at suppressing my emotions and why my brother says he “eats his feelings.”