He works hard. Never complains about always being in the outfield and in the bottom of the order. He wishes out loud that he could move up to the middle of the line up, but it hasn’t happened in the 4 years he’s played. His asthma holds him back, we’re sure.
But today was good. Last Saturday was actually good, too. He’s hitting the ball. Hard. Into the outfield. He came in the front door and announced, “Mom! I got the game ball!” One old, beat up ball has never meant so much to anyone. <3 <3 Congratulations, B! You deserve it, little man!
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