Ode to the Mushy Ball

This post is in loving memory of "The Mushy Ball"--a magical whiffle ball unlike any other I've ever known. It has been 6 years since that ball moved on, but I was recalling my childhood and that ball represented everything good about being young.

We found you hiding under a house alone beneath the leaves and dirt. You were round and smooth like all the others we had, but one defining trait that set you apart. You had no holes, no whiffles to slow your your speed. Instead of being hard, you instead were mushy, capable of regaining your shape should some uncouth child push your walls in. The seams on your cover were not raised like a real baseball, but slightly indented as a form of grip. For hours each day during the fleetingness of our youth, you sped through the summer heat or slowly broke across the plate. You layed on the ground listening to three boys argue the fairness of a call. You sailed into the humidity still hearing the boyish cheers. Into trees, over fences, or floating on the lake, you always returned. There were times you ran away for a while, over night at most. But in the end you came back, somehow. In a way you were our talisman, our good luck charm. And when you sat in our room, alone and without use, as we grew up and forgot you, something inside you called out to be used again. And when, on that fatal August day, in a state far from where you first appeared, you floated down on the other side of an unfamiliar fence, you ran for good. It is hard to believe that our talisman is gone, but I know as sure as there is hope, that a group of young boys found you, hiding under the leaves and dirt, and you are carrying them through the fleetingness of youth.