Read Online Finding Jake by Bryan Reardon - Free Book Online

squared off in front of the plate. Jake bore down on him as the third baseman raced after the ball. He picked it up in enough time to make the throw. It flew on a rope right to the catcher, but that massive glove failed the kid. The ball struck the leather and popped up. Jake slid into home, safe.
    The team (sans Carter) stormed the field as Jake ambled back to the dugout. They jumped on him and around him, patting his back and knocking on his helmet. He smiled and laughed, but did not say anything.
    In that moment, I felt such amazing pride in my son. Looking back, I could say that there were countless better reasons to be proud of him. I barely went a day without stopping and looking at him, seeing how great a kid he’d turned into. The truth was, though, that there’s something about that moment watching your kid do something great, whether it’s a spelling bee, a dance recital, or a baseball game. Leaning on the fence, I watched him handle hismoment with a composed but good-natured reaction. I listened to the other kids talk to him in the dugout.
    “Nice one,” Ritchie said.
    “Yeah,” Ben said.
    “Did you see that thing?” Ritchie said. “You killed it.”
    Jake nodded and smiled. He answered a couple of questions. Me, I tried to focus on the game, not wanting to show too much. I knew that if I made a big deal of it, it would embarrass him. So I waited and continued to eavesdrop.
    “That kid on third tried to trip you,” someone said.
    “Nah,” Jake answered. “I don’t think so.”
    I thought Carter said something behind me, but when I looked back, he had just jammed more dirt in his mouth. For only a second I considered retrieving the ball for posterity but decided that would be passé. Instead, I turned to look at the team, expecting Jake to still be in the middle of the throng, but he sat alone on the bench, stowing his gear.
    After the game, Jake and I loaded up the car and headed home. He buckled himself in and I looked at him through the rearview mirror.
    “Nice hit,” I said.
    “Thanks.”
    “You tore the cover off it. That was our first home run. I’m really proud of you, bud.”
    “Ben hit one last week.”
    “No, he stopped at third, remember?”
    Jake looked out the window, but I could see his smile.
    “Your team was happy for you.”
    He nodded.
    “How come you sat by yourself?”
    I immediately regretted the question. Jake, however, did not miss a beat.
    “I don’t love crowds.”
    I laughed, amazed at such self-awareness coming out of a seven-year-old.
    “Carter’s a weirdo,” he said after a while.
    “What makes you say that?”
    “He eats dirt. Plus, he hit Ben.”
    I still couldn’t understand that. Ben was the alpha dog on the team. In my day, if a kid like Carter even looked funny at a kid like Ben, Carter would have been eating dirt in the old-school sense (not that he would have minded, I guess).
    I sensed a teaching moment. Taking a deep breath, I thought about my words before I said them.
    “I understand what you are saying, Jake, but it is important to be nice to everyone. I won’t make you be friends with Carter. I’ve never made you be friends with anyone. But you should be nice. Look, it’s probably hard for him being on the team. He hasn’t hit the ball yet, and he can’t catch . . .”
    I knew immediately I should not have said that. Sometimes I spoke to Jake as if he was older than his actual age. When I glanced back, though, he didn’t seem to react.
    “All I’m saying is, just be nice to him.”
    “But he shouldn’t have hit Ben,” Jake said.
    “That’s true.” I nodded thoughtfully. “But still. You should be nice.”
    What I wanted to add was that considering Carter appeared to be a total loon, you didn’t want to be on his list when he went bat crazy. I knew enough to leave that part out.
    Maybe a week after the game, I waited at the bus stop, surrounded by a dozen adults chattering in three distinct pods. I lingered on the fringe,