"Peewee softball, and then some little league, at least till my folks passed. Then it was all catch-as-catch-can when I went to stay with my grandma and granddaddy. More pickup basketball than baseball then."
Sometimes, he doesn't much care to reminisce on his childhood. Sure, he had those moments like when he was six or seven, fishing in the pond with buddies, or collecting frogs, or going to the store with his mama or helping his dad change the oil on the pickup truck. But after that, it's a blur of stuff he wasn't too happy about. Then again, show him someone who had what they call a real happy childhood and he'll show you someone full of self-delusion.
Growin' up is hard work, and he has a momentary twinge of guilt over Clementine. Then again, he didn't ask Cass to go and get pregnant, and he ain't even sure the kid's his. She's sure, but he ain't. How can he be? He never even saw her.
Goo-goo, ga-ga. "So yeah, Freckles, I did. Threw a mean fastball. Probably got up to maybe 25 miles per hour. But I was just a little runt, and that ball felt like it weighed a ton."
Not for the first time, he wonders: what did she do? Where did she really grow up? Trust always bein' a relative term, he trusts a lot of what she says. But there's always a tiny nagging doubt in his mind, and he recognizes a glib and expert liar when he sees one. He has to. It's how he makes his living.
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Sometimes, he doesn't much care to reminisce on his childhood. Sure, he had those moments like when he was six or seven, fishing in the pond with buddies, or collecting frogs, or going to the store with his mama or helping his dad change the oil on the pickup truck. But after that, it's a blur of stuff he wasn't too happy about. Then again, show him someone who had what they call a real happy childhood and he'll show you someone full of self-delusion.
Growin' up is hard work, and he has a momentary twinge of guilt over Clementine. Then again, he didn't ask Cass to go and get pregnant, and he ain't even sure the kid's his. She's sure, but he ain't. How can he be? He never even saw her.
Goo-goo, ga-ga. "So yeah, Freckles, I did. Threw a mean fastball. Probably got up to maybe 25 miles per hour. But I was just a little runt, and that ball felt like it weighed a ton."
Not for the first time, he wonders: what did she do? Where did she really grow up? Trust always bein' a relative term, he trusts a lot of what she says. But there's always a tiny nagging doubt in his mind, and he recognizes a glib and expert liar when he sees one. He has to. It's how he makes his living.