Kick Ball

We stood in our grandparent's backyard, my brothers and I. It was a bit chilly for September, but our new school cloths kept the crisp October breeze at bay. I was sixteen, my brothers nine.

"Roll the ball!" Nick yelled from the patio near the back door, his high pitched voice echoing off the house behind him.

I stared at Jay on first base, standing on the rock at the back of where the garden used to be. He waited patiently to run. I turned and rolled the small purple ball up the slight incline toward Nick. His little legs ran forward. With one quick motion he flung his right leg at the plastic kickball, sending it airborne with a soft plunk. I turned and ran for the ball. My brother's legs took off simultaneously. Jay touched the exposed root in front of the big white pine tree (second base), as Nick raced around first.

When I grabbed the ball behind the pear tree, I made sure Nick got no further than second base. Frenzied giggling, though, made me turn. Jay ran right by the pole for the swing set (third base), and was bolting his way home! I took off for the patio, laughing myself at this point, watching Jay's eyes grow wide with pangs of laughter.

"No!" he screamed as I closed the gap across the yard. Several feet before touching the pavement, I gripped the ball, reared my arm back, and threw it at his legs.

Jay nearly fell trying to jump out of the way--but it worked--I missed him. The ball bounced away and rolled to the base of the dogwood tree at the side of the house.

"Go Nick go!" Jay yelled, now collapsed on the black tar of the patio. Nick rounded third and ran, his arms cutting the air in from of him, toward Jay.

It was too late. I laughed and dropped my knees in the dry grass.

"Yeah!" he yelled, landing with two feet on the corner of the pavement.

Kickball, even with only three people, a cheap plastic ball, and makeshift bases, turned out to be fun. Not because that's all we had, but because we were playing together. I think I laughed more at the little dudes running around the backyard yelling at their twin brother teammate to finally beat their older brother at something important--like kickball.

In those moments, I think, without us knowing it, we bonded. That's what guys do, play sports, throw, kick or catch balls, steal a base to say they did, kick a home run to prove you could. All the time being a part of something that we couldn't recognize, the whole time building our brotherly relationship. But to us, we played because it was fun, because there was nothing else to, because we loved running through the grass under the stiff, outstretched pine boughs far above our heads casting looming shadows dancing across the yard.