I still can’t believe my baseball was there the whole time. Right in front of my eyes...well, kind of. Where, you ask? Well, first let me tell you what happened to the baseball in the first place.
It was a sunny Saturday afternoon -- not just any afternoon, but my birthday afternoon. We just had the creamy chocolatey cake (my mom is an awesome baker). It was almost time to open presents; my parents always give the best presents. Last year I received a professional baseball bat. Oh! Now they’re opening presents! To my surprise, out rolled a gleaning new baseball.
I couldn’t believe my parents didn’t want me to take my new baseball to school. But I did it anyway and it was a huge mistake.
Allie, some friends, and I just played our first game. Allie hit a homerun, and I ran to catch it. I was so happy that I caught it, I jumped up and down and the ball flew right out of my hands, into the bushes, out of the fence and kept on rolling and rolling. We searched everywhere, but it was nowhere to be seen.
I thought my life was ruined. I decided to tell my dad when he came to pick me up. We drove home in silence. Once I got home, my dad picked something up from the kitchen counter. It was my baseball! He had it! My dad told me that he found it in our front yard and was wondering how it had gotten there. My dad and I had a good laugh while I hugged my baseball, relieved that it was back.
I wish I had been more careful. How did it get all the way to the front lawn? Perhaps it rolled all the way from school to our home down the street. Maybe it decided to teach me a lesson to listen to my parents!