Story: Little Dad and the ball game (start)
I'm married and have three kids, yet am the smallest in the family. Wasn't always that way. I used to be 5'10" or so but one day I noticed for some reason I felt...smaller. Then for a period of a couple weeks, I not only felt smaller, I was. By the time it ended, I was down to one half of my previous height.
That meant 35 inches tall and only about 25 pounds. My wife, Pam,
is of normal size and so are my kids, and as far as I know this shrinking disease or whatever it is isn't contagious or anything.
So the other night, my wife was off to Pittsburgh on business and it was up to me to entertain the kids, all of whom are on summer vacation. I do still work--via computer--but I'd promised to take them to a baseball game.
I can still drive, with raised pedals, but it isn't easy. Thankfully the ballpark was a quick bus ride away.
The oldest is Melinda, who is just shy of 13 years old and is just about as tall as I used to be. Next comes Cory, who is 10 (about to turn 11) and about 4 foot 8. Finally there's six year old Jamie--he'll be entering first grade in the fall.
At an inch shy of three feet tall, life really seems different for me now. I certainly am wearing kid sized clothes--very young kids.
Even Jamie's clothes would be too big for me.
For me now, doorknobs are at nose level and I need both hands to turn them. The back door sticks sometimes and I have to depend on my kids to open it for me in humid weather. Lightswitches, like the one for the bathroom, seem to be about 8 feet off the ground. Even if I leap up, I can't reach them. It takes a stick (maybe a ruler) to help turn the light on.
I need chairs and stools to reach things in the kitchen.
Well, I got the kids all together and we headed to the park. It was tough keeping up with them. Even Jamie, at six, has legs more than a bit longer than mine so even if I walk briskly and they walk slowly, it's still tough. Add to that the energy these kids seem to have...
The attendant scans our tickets and we enter and head up to the third base side. Adults stream by me, their heads slightly taller than the tip of my head. Often I'm not noticed, even though I have a beard and people might get a close look and realize I'm not 2 or 3
years old.
We find our seats and all manage to get some food. At one point I go back to the concession stand and stand in the beer line. The person serving beer chuckles when they see me--hey, a "midget"--
and I show my ID (since revised by the motor vehicle bureau to show my new height). They pour a twelve ounce beer bottle's contents into a plastic cup and I pay for it and head back to the seats. I need both hands to carry it.
Keeping the kids well behaved is a chore, at least at my current size.
They can get rebellious.
We settle into our seats and I find it's tough to see the action. Cory offers to have me sit in his lap; I refuse and sit on a cushion we've brought, legs dangling over the side.
It's bizarre to have to look up at your kids. My chin was about level
with Cory's belly button. I think he weighs about 90 or 100 pounds now--about 4 times as much as me. He has lifted me up sometimes.
It's also bizarre to hear pre-pubescent voices coming from up above your head. But my own voice is a lot higher now. I sound almost like a six year old boy. Scratch that; my six year old son's voice? A bit
deeper than mine at this point.
The kids are full of energy and enthusiasm, especially when the mascots get on the field and several people, usually kids, take part in contests that are seen on the big screen. They jump up when
T-shirts or hot dogs are tossed into the crowd. Evidently minor
league baseball realizes that kids today have short attention spans
and may not necessarily be following the game.
I try to. Stupid; that base runner tried to steal second and was thrown out, for the last out of the inning. So much for the rally.
Hey ump--that was a ball, not a strike.
Anyway...
The bathroom trip was interesting. After finding a urinal scaled down to my size (for kids, you see) and then reaching up to get the soap
and water from the sink, I headed back out toward my seats when a thunderous sound was heard. This was not uncommon during games; the scoreboard urges the crowd to rally and kids shout out loud "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"s and stomp their feet on the metal
stands. Geez, Cory is 4 foot 8 but I swear he was wearing a pair of my old sneakers (men's size 11). I think I heard that kids' hands and feet grow at a faster pace so maybe no surprise there. My own
sneakered feet, maybe five inches long at best, seemed puny
by comparison.
Anyway, the thunderous sound was kids heading right toward me.
And I mean giant kids--11 or 12 years old or even older. Normally in the past this would mean no problem, but a 12 year old who weighed maybe 120 pounds may as well have weighed half a ton to me.
Kids are bumping into each other, running around; I try to move away from them when suddenly one boy puts out his sneakered foot and trips me. I fall over and find my tiny body descending to the
floor, with laughter all around me--especially when he sees my beard.
I'm a midget! To them at least. And they know it.
to be continued
That meant 35 inches tall and only about 25 pounds. My wife, Pam,
is of normal size and so are my kids, and as far as I know this shrinking disease or whatever it is isn't contagious or anything.
So the other night, my wife was off to Pittsburgh on business and it was up to me to entertain the kids, all of whom are on summer vacation. I do still work--via computer--but I'd promised to take them to a baseball game.
I can still drive, with raised pedals, but it isn't easy. Thankfully the ballpark was a quick bus ride away.
The oldest is Melinda, who is just shy of 13 years old and is just about as tall as I used to be. Next comes Cory, who is 10 (about to turn 11) and about 4 foot 8. Finally there's six year old Jamie--he'll be entering first grade in the fall.
At an inch shy of three feet tall, life really seems different for me now. I certainly am wearing kid sized clothes--very young kids.
Even Jamie's clothes would be too big for me.
For me now, doorknobs are at nose level and I need both hands to turn them. The back door sticks sometimes and I have to depend on my kids to open it for me in humid weather. Lightswitches, like the one for the bathroom, seem to be about 8 feet off the ground. Even if I leap up, I can't reach them. It takes a stick (maybe a ruler) to help turn the light on.
I need chairs and stools to reach things in the kitchen.
Well, I got the kids all together and we headed to the park. It was tough keeping up with them. Even Jamie, at six, has legs more than a bit longer than mine so even if I walk briskly and they walk slowly, it's still tough. Add to that the energy these kids seem to have...
The attendant scans our tickets and we enter and head up to the third base side. Adults stream by me, their heads slightly taller than the tip of my head. Often I'm not noticed, even though I have a beard and people might get a close look and realize I'm not 2 or 3
years old.
We find our seats and all manage to get some food. At one point I go back to the concession stand and stand in the beer line. The person serving beer chuckles when they see me--hey, a "midget"--
and I show my ID (since revised by the motor vehicle bureau to show my new height). They pour a twelve ounce beer bottle's contents into a plastic cup and I pay for it and head back to the seats. I need both hands to carry it.
Keeping the kids well behaved is a chore, at least at my current size.
They can get rebellious.
We settle into our seats and I find it's tough to see the action. Cory offers to have me sit in his lap; I refuse and sit on a cushion we've brought, legs dangling over the side.
It's bizarre to have to look up at your kids. My chin was about level
with Cory's belly button. I think he weighs about 90 or 100 pounds now--about 4 times as much as me. He has lifted me up sometimes.
It's also bizarre to hear pre-pubescent voices coming from up above your head. But my own voice is a lot higher now. I sound almost like a six year old boy. Scratch that; my six year old son's voice? A bit
deeper than mine at this point.
The kids are full of energy and enthusiasm, especially when the mascots get on the field and several people, usually kids, take part in contests that are seen on the big screen. They jump up when
T-shirts or hot dogs are tossed into the crowd. Evidently minor
league baseball realizes that kids today have short attention spans
and may not necessarily be following the game.
I try to. Stupid; that base runner tried to steal second and was thrown out, for the last out of the inning. So much for the rally.
Hey ump--that was a ball, not a strike.
Anyway...
The bathroom trip was interesting. After finding a urinal scaled down to my size (for kids, you see) and then reaching up to get the soap
and water from the sink, I headed back out toward my seats when a thunderous sound was heard. This was not uncommon during games; the scoreboard urges the crowd to rally and kids shout out loud "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"s and stomp their feet on the metal
stands. Geez, Cory is 4 foot 8 but I swear he was wearing a pair of my old sneakers (men's size 11). I think I heard that kids' hands and feet grow at a faster pace so maybe no surprise there. My own
sneakered feet, maybe five inches long at best, seemed puny
by comparison.
Anyway, the thunderous sound was kids heading right toward me.
And I mean giant kids--11 or 12 years old or even older. Normally in the past this would mean no problem, but a 12 year old who weighed maybe 120 pounds may as well have weighed half a ton to me.
Kids are bumping into each other, running around; I try to move away from them when suddenly one boy puts out his sneakered foot and trips me. I fall over and find my tiny body descending to the
floor, with laughter all around me--especially when he sees my beard.
I'm a midget! To them at least. And they know it.
to be continued
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next part
For a 5 foot 10 inch, 200 pound man, forty years old, it's a bit jarring to find himself down to 2 foot 11 and 25 pounds. Even after a couple weeks of getting used to it. The eleven- and twelve-year-old kids
towering over me was not totally new to me at this point but I still was a bit unprepared to find myself on the concrete floor of the concession area. I'm surrounded by huge sneakered (or, in one case, sandalled) feet, and now five-foot-tall pipsqueaks were towering over me.
I slowly got up, my back aching a bit, and tried to leave but felt huge hands restraining me. Then one twelve year old reached under my armpits and picks me up as if I were a little toddler. I try to struggle free but find the boy is tossing me casually to another boy. Then there's another kid who steps in and tries to free me--
it's my son Cory, who is slightly shorter and thinner than the first one and has a tougher time. The first kid starts to swing his fist at Cory and connects once or twice and then punches me. I scream in pain (and am embarrassed to think I'm being beaten up by a twelve year old) and try to punch him back but now that I only weigh
25 pounds, it's not easy. When I do get a punch in, I find it barely touches him.
Melinda and Jamie also join in; though Jamie can't do much--he's
only 3 foot 11 and weighs 55 pounds; more than me in both cases but still much less than a twelve year old. Cory pushes him out of the way, saying he'll be hurt, and tries to grab me. Then the
adults find us and stop the fight.
One hot-dog seller, twice my height and 7 or 8 times my weight,
picks me up and is surprised to find I'm...his age. The beard.
"That's our dad," says Melinda. Of course the kids who tried to beat me up, now being restrained by several adults, love the idea that a "daddy" is so small. Cory is heard yelling something to them like
"maybe you're gonna catch it and shrink too!"
The hot dog vendor pulls me aside and asks if I'm all right. He gets down on one knee and puts me on it, as if I'm a little kid. I'm coughing and actually bleeding, from the nose (some napkins help) but nod that I'm not hurt badly.
Melinda leads me toward the men's room and someone yells to her, "Hey wait, that's.."
"Special case!"
"I got him," pipes in Cory, leading me into the men's room so I can clean up a bit, using the sink. After a few minutes, the whole family (minus Mom of course, who's in the Steel City on business) settles back down to watch the game.
The bullies are turned over to their parents--who apologize to
all of us. The parents do, at least.
During the seventh inning stretch, when we all stand up to sing Take Me Out to the Ballgame, I'm standing next to Jamie. A foot taller than me, weighing at least twice as much; thinking that a future first grader towers over me that way can only make me
feel smaller.
Little Jamie gives me a hug, a huge hug from such a relatively
small kid, and says it'll be okay, daddy.
(to be continued?)
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