I’ve decide to mix things up a bit. While having a conversation with one of my parents, I went into this story of my youth. Two weeks later she encouraged me to post this on my blog. It has turned into a long winded blog entry, longer than I ever imagined, and with limited time and the urgency to post frequently, I decided to post the story in the sections in which it is created. Usually people come to the SoftballOne site seeking information regarding instruction, but let it be known there is more to this game than technique, X’s, and O’s. Hopefully this attempt will give insight into the true infancy of women’s athletics, the struggles many of our softball players have had and still face, and the remarkable progress we have made in a very short period of time. This story is only one of many. I encourage others to write and post their stories. It is important that future generations know and keep our history close.
December 8th I turned 31. I started playing tee ball when I was 4. You had to be 5 to sign up but my Mother lied about my age. This was way before you had to show a state ID or a birth certificate. Things were simple. I lived in a little town called Orestes on a two bedroom farm house with 10 acres. We had seven cherry trees in our front yard, which I climbed, and fell out of, almost everyday. The majority of our property was wooded with a small pond on the far west-end. There were trails all through our woods and this is where I would ride my little 50cc Indian motorcycle my dad found while fishing, and renovated for me without my mothers blessing. She hated that motorcycle; she nearly worried to death each time I took off blazing through the trails. So I am certain she lied about my age to get me somewhere, anywhere away from that little Indian and out of her cherry trees. I didn’t know this at the time, but I was the only girl on the team.
Unfortunately my father thought it was ok for a young girl to ride a motorcycle without a helmet, but not acceptable for her to play tee ball. I don’t remember the arguments, but I remember the walk. On the day of our first game, my father took away the keys to my mother’s car and vanished. I was so excited. I remember staying up all night nervous and worried about anything and everything. I was out of my bed before the sun, dressed and ready by 8:00am. That morning I had the worst butterflies in my stomach, and, to ease my nerves, I started throwing a tennis ball off of our barn over and over again. I didn’t notice my dad leaving; all I can remember was my mother coming out back with a smile on her face asking me if I was ready to go. She must have known he took the keys, because she just handed me my glove, took my hand, and we started walking down our endless dirt road. About 3 miles later we were at my first game…early. To this day I don’t know why my mother just didn’t call Grandma and Grandpa and have them pick us up. Maybe she just wanted to walk with me and enjoy the day. Maybe she wanted to prepare me for the journey ahead. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the last time we walked together so I could play ball.
Needless to say my parents divorced a little over a year later. He moved to Atlanta and I have rarely seen him since. He never saw me play a game until I was 20. I think it was my Junior spring trip and we were playing a double header against Georgia State. However, my mother never missed a game until I went through the “I hate my mother” stage in high school. My mother knew nothing about athletics. She was a small town intellect, plain, and simple. I could have gone 0-10 with 7 errors and she would have told me she was very proud of me. I think she knew how hard I was on myself and trusted me with all the criticism. What she did know and taught me was there should be no barriers, especially for women. She also taught me the importance of good decision making and sharing your talents with the world. These qualities have carried me further in my life than my athletic ability. I had a gift, a passion, and she would support and nurture my growth the best she could. At the time when my parents divorced she was an English and Journalism teacher at Elwood Community High School. After the divorce we moved to Elwood to make life easier for her as a single parent. We lived in a duplex on a street with 20 other kids two blocks away from my elementary school and the high school were she taught. Even though I missed the country and I could not ride my Indian, I could play ball all the time in the nearby park with the other kids. Life wasn’t so bad.
After tee ball came minor’s softball. I have to admit I was, and still am, a ball hog. When I played short stop, instead of throwing the ball to first, I fielded the ball and then ran it to the bag. Reason- no one could catch my throws and it drove me nuts. If it wasn’t for the after school pick-up games, I am sure I would have lost interest. At the age of 10 I was so over the softball thing, signups were just around the corner and I could not bear the thought of another summer watching kids picking flowers when I was so serious about winning and performing. By nature I am highly competitive and driven, even then, so I decided I wanted to play with the neighborhood guys – I wanted to compete. So one night I told my mom I wanted to play baseball.
At the time I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but obviously she had some idea. I don’t think she would have known just how bad it would get, but she knew it would be hard, especially in Elwood and for a 10 year old girl challenging the good-old-boy system. I am sure any mother would not want their child to face what I was about to meet head on, especially mine. For two weeks she tried to convince to play softball and make the people around me better. Then she tried to get me to go visit my Aunt Neva in Atlanta and maybe I could see my dad. Then she tried to get me to join the swim team. Until finally one night she came home from work and told me it would be ok for me to try-out for baseball. Key words here……….”try-out.” Softball had sign ups, baseball had a draft. I am sure she found out about the tryouts and figured no one would draft me. Fortunately for us, she was wrong.
If only I could remember his name! I can still remember the shape of his face and his mannerisms but I cannot remember his name. I have thought about him often and wished I could thank him for taking a chance on me and indirectly changing the face of inequality in our small town. My mother and I made it to the field the day of try-outs with a minute to spare. If you recall we made it to my first game early. I think this was the first and only time we weren’t late. Anytime we would leave to go somewhere she would say, “We’re off like a herd of turtles.” When we pulled up to the field I saw a buddy of mine and asked Mom to let me out so I could warm up. Reluctantly she let me out but told me to wait for her while she parked the car so we could check in together. As soon as I stepped out of the car I heard someone call everyone over for the first part of the try-out. I didn’t listen and rushed to the field to the check-in table. I was late, I wasn’t checked in, and they were already starting. The man at the table looked at me, then looked through his sheet of papers, and said I wasn’t on the list. He went on to add. “Hell will freeze over before I let a girl play baseball in this town.” As soon as the words left his mouth the crowd around him began to laugh. I didn’t know what to do; I had never been addressed before in this manner by an adult. It wasn’t in my world to be humiliated by grown men and women. It wasn’t in my world to not be allowed on a field. I didn’t understand. I was speechless and mortified. Fight or flight, right? I turned to sprint away and at that moment I heard my mother’s voice.
“Cara I told you to wait for me!”
“Ms. Johnson we seem to have a problem here,” the man at the check in desk went on to say.
“What seems to be the problem?” she said is a cool and oblivious tone.
“Well for one this is baseball tryouts”, he blurted back, “and girls don’t play baseball.”
At this moment my mother calmly went behind the desk and said something to him so no one else could hear. With this his intolerable face suddenly turned uncertain. Then with a long pause that seemed to last an eternity, I was given a number and directed to hustle to rest of the players. I never looked back. To this day Mom still hasn’t told me what she said.
I immediately located a couple of my neighborhood friends and rushed over feeling certain I found a safe place. But, as soon as I entered the group, those around me, including my so called friends, walked away from me to the other side of the group. It was like I parted the red sea or had some hideous disease. Later I found out the parents ordered their kids not to look at me, talk to me, at the field or school. This is when it hit me – the little girl who just wanted to play with her friend had no friends and I was going to take all the crap given to me to fuel my fire. For the first time in my life I was kicking and screaming- pure rage. I didn’t know the depth of the battle, but something inside me kicked into overdrive and I knew there would be no one who would out play me that day. I would give them no reason not to keep me.
To be continued…