Descriptive Essay: T-Ball School

I walk into the gymnasium—it’s a quarter to four, fifteen minutes before class starts. Four or five of the kids are already here. The head coach has not yet arrived, but there is plenty of time and less than a third of the children are currently present. This is a t-ball class of 16 five to six year olds. After finally noticing me nearly ten minutes after I arrive the kids momentarily stop swirling around the gym haphazardly long enough to approach me and request their name tags, in the usual disorderly fashion. Two more kids, four and six, brothers, respectively the youngest and oldest in the class arrive. They too, receive nametags. Luckily after I finish distributing nametags the kids continue to chase each other around the gym without asking me for equipment. Class typically begins with the kids

So with not much else of a choice, I took the only shot I had. Luckily a parent who lived only two blocks away had a tee, a foam bat and a baseball. After laying some newspapers down as bases I picked teams and the game was back on. Eventually, Ken did arrive, fifteen minutes before the end of class, which was great because there was still the issue of the medals. Before class ended, I was still too caught up in the moment of getting the game together and then coaching and reffing to feel much pride in anything. After handing out the medals, the amount of genuine gratitude and appreciation from the parents and Ken, but especially the children, was one of the most gratifying moments of my existence. It’s been a quarter century since I was brought into this world. Through the years I’ve had a number of directions I wanted to go in terms of education or career. Some of them considered thoroughly and some just passing. Who I wanted to be always seemed a more important matter to contemplate than what I wanted to be. I still haven’t quite figured either matter out