The sounds of bats cracking and overbearing parents screaming surrounded me on my walk to the quads. A cumbersome pink bag weighing me down because of my fragile size was the first indication that I was new to this sport. It only got worse as I entered the dugout and unzipped the bag. Out popped a pink and black glove with a princess emblem stitched on the thumb, a florescent pink helmet, and a metal bat too long for me. The girls in the dugout snickered, but I held my head high. Momma always said, “Sticks and stones, Kaitlin.”

The coach was number seven’s dad who wore a baseball cap that, quite frankly, irritated me because we were a girls’ softball team, and boys had cooties. Turns out, number one, number ninety-nine, and number six all had their dorky looking, know-it-all dads on the clay with them as well. The remaining seven girls’ dads weren’t the outgoing type, but were still on the bleachers calling from the other side of the fence things like “don’t forget to release it at your hip!” or even “keep your head down, swing harder.” My dad was nowhere to be found. He had promised, like he did many times prior, but fate somehow had once again proved him unjust.

The game was over, and I didn’t even stay for the complimentary snack and juice. Instead of celebrating the Orioles’ first win with my team, I ran as fast as I could off the field, out of the park, and away from all the little girls who were embracing their dad’s congratulatory hugs.

I couldn’t resist the pull of the field for long.  I eventually learned to love the game, and learned to stop looking in the stands. I learned how to embrace my father absence, I learned how to become independent, and I learned how to be brave. His absence permeated everything including my academics. My father was never the parent that came into the classroom in grade school for Christmas parties. My father wasn’t the one scolding me for my poor test grade. My father wasn’t the one saying “Kaitlin do your homework!” My motivation in school arose from my personal interest in becoming more educated than I was the day before.

I think about my first day on the unfamiliar softball field often. I was discouraged and heartbroken, and wondered if I would ever have the “good life” of a father in the stands. But in his unintentional way, my father gave me the good life. His absence taught me that the good life is learning to swing the bat myself without scanning the stands for his presence.