My days of softball team playing were short-lived although coaching by my Uncle George caused me to set a good example for rival coaches to remark to his players, “Look at her batting stance. That’s how you should stand at the plate.”
I knew how to hold the bat and twist my toes while facing the rival pitcher’s windup, but just as my problem when I was taking my place in right field, I could not see well enough to follow the ball’s movement. It turned out I needed glasses.
The Sisters of Charity of Nazareth who were the Catholic nuns teaching at Holy Family School operated their classrooms according to size. Since I was a short person, I was seated at the front of the room, always the first desk near the blackboard.
I had no problem with eyesight up until the eighth grade when I walked into the ballpark and learned it was time for corrective glasses.
That was a rude awakening moment but also a redeeming one since there was at least a reason for my poor ball diamond activities.
My sister Jean and I both paid a visit to the optometrist’s office after which the world looked quite different.