A Little League Memory

To this day, when I think of some of the happiest memories involving my dad, I remember a little league game of mine in 5th grade. The umpire in this game was making a lot of bad calls. I was running home and a throw to the catcher beat me to the plate. In little league, if the catcher actually fields the throw ahead of you before you get to home (as happened in this case), it is a near guarantee that you will be out. 

I miraculously managed to slide feet-first towards the back of the plate and under the catcher's tag. I swear in my memory there is this frozen moment, lasted for a 1/4th of a second, where I realized I was safe but the ump hadn't actually made the call yet so I anxiously expected my awesome slide to go for naught and be called out. That feeling shot through my mind before, miraculously, the bad umpire correctly called me safe. 

Of course my team on the bench erupted, but I vividly remember looking up at my dad and little brother: Dad on his lawn chair cheering so hard he was laughing (it's a fairly sophisticated play for a 5th-grader), and my little brother standing and pumping his fist in amazement. I hit home-runs in little league, but that slide may be my happiest memory thanks to the look I immediately saw on my dad's and brother's faces. In case you wonder why someone can be so passionate about a sport.