I saw you get out of your car. You turned the radio down just enough for me to miss the name of the last song. I heard you are getting married. That's great. I can't remember the guy's name. I met him once at the intramural softball game. I remember you at church softball games, when we were in high school. You know, back when we went to church. I suppose you look happy. You looked happy then, too, but much skinnier, and your clothes didn't fit as well. Nobody was holding your hand on the bleachers, and you always wondered what it would be like to have a player to cheer for, other than your dad, who was pitching. And it's hard to cheer for a pitcher, especially one who doesn't hit or run or make fast plays. And is your dad. I think you're used to being embarrassed. But that could just be me talking. Now it's all intentional. What will you use to manage your shame?
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