When I pulled into my driveway this evening, I had to be careful to avoid getting in the way of a softball. The man next door was outside with his daughter again. The little girl is around 8 or 9 years old and he was throwing balls high into the air for her to practice catching fly balls.
“Great catch!” I called to her as she got to a difficult ball just in time. Then I asked her dad — jokingly — if she’s going to be a softball star.
“She already is,” he said as he beamed with pride. “She plays on the community team and they’ve been winning tournaments. They won in Tuscaloosa next weekend. If they win one more, they go to the state tournament.”
I don’t know this family well, but we always wave and say hello. They’re originally from somewhere in Latin America and the parents’ accented English is sometimes difficult for me to understand.
This evening, though, I didn’t have any trouble understanding. He was a loving father whose pride in his little girl was unmistakable. His love for his daughter transcended our language gap.