damaging memories, vol. 1

in getting into a conversation about whether i was planning on participating in my office's softball league, memories rose up from the inner depths of my once-a-child soul that i hadn't revisited in years. by way of prying, my co-workers who were engaging me during this conversation, were able to stir my pot and get me to talk about one of the worst softball memories i have to date (then again, all of them are bad because i'm really bad at sports in general).

i was on a softball team when i was about 10/11. we had just moved to texas and my parents decided to force me to join this softball team since the coach and his daugther who was my age lived literally 2 houses down from us. i was new to school and to being a texan, so i was like, "whatev, that's fine. give me some more cheerios or something first, though."

i was awful. i mean, it's no surprise considering i was apart of my soccer team at age 7 for maybe a season and the one time i was thrown into the goal, i let literally every single ball fly past me screaming and crying all the while. any ball i hit with the bat in softball was a foul one. no, really. it smelled bad. ha, JAY KAY. long story short, i didn't enjoy playing at all, but i stuck with it to have friends. yeah, like that really worked out.

i'll never forget the punch line of my story that i'm about to present to you within the next few sentences. it was the last game of the season, a night game (ooo sexy). as i was about to take my boring left-field position, my teammates informed me that my coach's daughter (who lived 2 houses down from me JUST IN CASE YA FORGOT BECAUSE I DIDN'T) was having an end-of-the-season slumber party... and i hadn't been informed. every single girl had known about this way before the game and had come prepared with sleeping bags and i was empty-handed. i was the only girl on the team she hadn't invited.

are you tearing up yet? do you realize how damaging that shit is for a 10-year-old little girl with a boy's haircut and olive skin tone who constantly is mistaken for a latina?

i cried in the outfield the entire game. sobbing. massive, 10-year-old girl tears pouring down my face like a waterfall of humiliation. i pulled my cap down as far as i could in order to hide my sensitivity, but it didn't even matter. i was the joke of the team. or should i say... the JEW of the team?

that's right. i have 2 words for my ex-coach and his creepily-weird-no-doubt-in-my-mind-she-will-die-alone-with-30-cats daughter... ANTI-SEMITE.

don't worry, i got to go. yeah, she gave me the pity invite. and i went, OH DID I GO. i ramsacked her entire house, shat on everything and cut holes in all her clothes. no, not really. i probably acted pretty normal, but the point is... little girls suck.

sticks and stones may break my bones, but i will mend them and then slap your mouth.


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