It was a feeling that I had never experienced, before I'd gotten my face broken by a fastball.It still didn't feel like fear. I didn't feel like I was...bailing out on the pitches, or flinching. But something was different, and, whatever it was, Sandy seemed to be the only antidote. When she was nearby, when I could think about her, back there behind me in the stands, the fear -- if that's what it was -- didn't take hold of me.Superstition? Was that all it was? Maybe. But I had never been. Seeing her nod for Polly to go on, she looked back down at her own handiwork."Mom ... well, she worked. Did washing, watched children, whatever other families were willing to pay for. Dad, as a soldier, didn't bring in much. Not as much as Mom thought we needed. She, well, wanted us to have it all. And was willing to do what it took. My first memories are of of being in the kitchen, helping her make the evening meal so she could have more time to get some sewing in. When ... well, when we lost. More

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