Pole Dancing

Mackenzie’s T-Ball games have been on Wednesdays at five, or Saturdays at nine. Last week her game was on Saturday at ten, I was surprised for a later game we had less parents in the bleachers. I later found out some were working the snack bar.

Thank God. 

My son Chris acts as the catcher for the team. The way it works, is the coach pitches to the kids, if they are unable to hit the ball after five throws, my son pulls out the T stand so the kids can get a hit.

Now my son Chris wears shorts three hundred and sixty-five days a year. He retires only the ones with holes. Most of them will eventually come my way to have a button that’s dangling or has popped off sewn back on. 

Except the pair he was wearing last Saturday. 

It was the third inning; a kid had just hit the ball and was running to first. I looked back and saw my son pole dancing, or I guess it would have been called T-Ball dancing. I was shocked. I couldn’t say anything, my daughter Dana saw my face and looked in the direction of her husband; all I heard was “what the heck.” 

When it dawned on me what had happened, I couldn’t stop laughing. Apparently when he bent down to pick up the ball, his button popped. Since he has recently lost about twenty pounds, without the button his pants started to fall off. He grabbed his pants with both hands one in front because his zipper was going south, and the other holding his pants up on the side. While this was happening he was stepping back into the T-Ball stand. So, what we saw was a thirty-nine year old, wiggling, giggling, with the plastic pole poking his behind. 

When my daughter Dana married him fourteen years ago, he became my son. He knows how I feel about him. I have never called him “in-law.” But last Saturday, seeing him on the field, just for an instant I wanted to stand up and yell. The dancer is my son by marriage”.


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