So, I have been trying to get more exercise in lately. One avenue for this has been reliving my brief past as a baseball player. A while ago, I rummaged for all the old gear in Canberra. Stringer and I have been a couple of times now, good fun. Plenty of homers last weekend.

Carrying all this momentum to Canberra for the mother's day trip, I also took all the gear home to have a chuck with Dad and Mick. Went down the oval, just like the old days (god that makes me sound old!). While I was there I recalled the first time Dad took us down with our baseball gear. I guess I was about twelve, Mish ten, and Mick nine? Dad outlined the rules, we set up some bases and played our first game of baseball. Fun for all the family! Dad's turn to bat finally comes around, he smashes the ball into the outfield. The ball is deftly fielded and ends up in my mitt. Not knowing the rules, but knowing that the batter needed to 'contact' the ball to be 'out', I absolutley pegged the ball at my old man. "Chock!". Small of the back, followed by inaudible expletives. Dad was not impressed. Furious would be a good start for a description. It must have hurt. However, I do not remember being heavily reprimanded, he mustn't have fully explained the rules. The only time I ever got away with throwing anything at 'David'.

Of course when we actually played any sport, Dad was not entirely constructive in his criticism. Needless to say we all pursued sports he has no knowledge/interest in. It works quite well, a fairly peaceful equilibrium.

For the record, it was not to be the only time I would foolishly throw something at Dad...