I was a teenager all set to go to the prom. It was five o’clock and we were ready to break up baseball practice. I was a third baseman but, on this day, I was pitching. I must have hung a curve ball as the next thing I remember was being put in an ambulance. 

The emergency guy asked me if I was nauseous, and I didn’t even know what the word meant. I proceeded to vomit blood all over the place. I imagine it was rather scary for my parents. 

I spent the next week or so in the hospital. Apparently, I had taken a line drive to the head. I had a concussion, a broken face and blurred vision. It could have been worse. One day in the hospital was my birthday. I don’t remember much about my sixteenth birthday. By default, I learnedbirthdays do not amount to much. 

Life goes on and I was too young to understand the irony in that statement. 

I remember driving home from the hospital. My mother drove, and I watched the world with a quirky sense of awe. My brain was now rearranged for better or worse. I remember clearly the world had changed. It was now deep into spring, the trees had leaves, flowers were blooming, and the birds had a different tenor.

A few weeks later I went out to practice for my driving test. I ran over a mailbox. I should not have been driving. 

Patience.

I was rather good at baseball. I was only a sophomore yet started every game. Yet I was humbled. I never played that well again. I decided I would go a lot farther with good grades rather than a baseball scholarship.