One Glove, One Practice

Enlightenment thru Baseball

There’s a glove sitting on my workbench right now.
It’s not finished. The laces aren’t tight yet. Some of the welting needs to be redone. The leather has a few scuffs I haven’t decided whether to buff out or leave, scars from its past life.

But it’s the first glove I’ve remade.
And it already feels like it’s been with me forever.

Because a baseball glove is never just a glove.
It’s a story.
It’s a place.
It’s a time machine.

I remember mine.

I remember the one that got stiff from being left out in the rain. I remember the way it smelled, the sound it made when a ball landed in the pocket just right. I remember breaking it in with a ball wrapped in rubber bands. I remember the glove I wore when I didn’t make the team and the one, I wore when I finally did, even though I barely played.

The glove was there through it all.
Disappointment. Joy. Boredom. Determination.

You don’t use a glove. You become familiar with it. You break it in. You shape it to your hand, and over time it shapes you a little to…