My dad and I had been looking forward to the Stale cross-country race of my senior year of high school, which would be the climax (顶点) of my existence.

I was the fastest runner on my team, and I was supposed to make it into the top fifteen. We had been working towards this race for three years. It was everything to me, and it was everything to my dad. He was a runner and was wild with joy by my success in running. He made it to every race, even flying home early from business trips to see me run. I always listened for his voice, which rang above the crowd-telling me to relax my arms, calling out my time. He pushed me. He cheered for me. He believed in me. We spent countless hours on the sandy canals of Arizona. Breathing in the dust of the desert, the blossoms of the orange trees, and the terrible smell of the dairy farm, we made our way across the city. We pounded miles and miles into our running shoes, marking with every step the path to greatness. It was a journey that was just ours. A dream passed on from one generation to the next.

Then the big day came. It was hotter than normal - too hot. My throat felt like a field of cotton, cracked with the summer heat, as I waited for the gun to fire. I gazed out at the crowd; dozens of familiar faces from church and school flickered across my view. They had come for me. They were counting on me. I saw my dad set his watch, worry and excitement etched across his face. With the sound of a gunshot, the race began.

For the first two and half miles, I felt great. I had never before been so ready for something. The weeks leading up to the race were filled with hard practices and a strict diet. The scorching sun beat upon my back, blinding me with its brilliance. Nothing was going to stop me, though.

However, without warning, my strength was running out.

I whispered, “I’m so sorry I disappointed you, Dad.”

Have you ever heard of the position “sometimes backup catcher (替补接球手)?” I hadn’t either. Until this spring.

Since childhood, I have always liked watching baseball match. I especially loved the thrill of watching the catchers grab that game-winning grand slam (大满贯球) at the final moment. I sometimes pictured myself as the catcher, with body moving as swift as a leopard to the outfield and with eyes as sharp as an eagle’s, ready to catch the ball from the pitcher(投球手) with the glove and secure those decisive points.

This spring, my parents brought me to the Centerville Youth Baseball tryouts (选拔). When it was my turn, I ran out on to the field. My parents were surprised at how quickly I returned. “How’d you do?” Dad asked. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure I’ll make the team.” “Let’s wait and see.” Mom said.

After tryouts, Coach Bull yard announced, “Positions are posted in the clubhouse.” Parents and kids stampeded to check the results.

Dad stared at the lineup list for a long time. I couldn’t get myself to look. “So, did I make the team?” I asked him finally.

“You did,” Dad replied. “It says ‘Mike Davis: sometimes backup catcher.’” What does that mean? It didn’t sound great.

We had three practices before the first game. The first day, Is at on the bench beside my friend Emily, and Coach pointed to the outfield. “Mike Davis and Emily Hall—out there. And practice!” Emily and I headed for the outfield.

During our first practice, everything seemed to be in a mess. At the second practice, I showed some improvement, but still missed several catches. I even slipped and fell as it started to rain. I heard Emily chuckle. Coach Bull yard noticed this, and came close to me, comforting, “It’s important for a catcher to catch every ball, especially the grand-slam ball. If you do your best, you’ll see the result in the game.

At home, I asked my older brother James. “Do you think Coach will ever put me in a game as a catcher?” James wrote down and calculated some numbers. Finally, he said “The likelihood that you’ll play in a game before the end of the season is as slim as finding a needle in a haystack.” He looked at me. “In other words, it probably won’t happen.”

I had just a very wonderful day. Although all my days were always wonderful to me, that day was completely different. There was a bulletin(公告)board saying that they would need to find volleyball players for the girls and I was so happy! I have been loving playing volleyball since my mother taught me how to play. I was so excited that I couldn’t wait to play! Then I read more what was on that bulletin board, which said that here would be an audition(试演)after three weeks! “Three weeks?” I thought about it I did know how to play volleyball but I was not much of an expert in doing it but I still wanted to try.

After that I was determined to practice volleyball every day. I practiced hard again and again each day and never got tired of doing the same practice through all the days, and finally, the day came. I was so prepared for this and hurried to the gym to the audition. When I had reached the gym, I was surprised to see that 12 or 14 girls were lining up and I guessed I was the last one to arrive. Then our audition began. Some of the girls failed to pass the audition and some passed.

There was only one position left to complete the 6 girls to join the volleyball team and suddenly I felt nervous because the person in front of me was going to take the serve(发球). Then the girl hit the ball and then the ball didn’t pass over the net! The girl hit her forehead and left, leaving me standing in the middle of the court.

Then the coach spoke, “Okay, you serve.” She handed me the ball and I caught it with my hands. As the ball was in my hands, my hands were suddenly sweating and so was I!

I then suddenly became nervous about this.

I come to a stop, taking a deep breath and began.

Now more and more people do sports to keep healthy.

It was a cold winter. After work, I returned home. I started to take my coat off, when my son Justin ran through the door of his room. He shouted, “Dad! Dad! I’m going to play baseball tonight.”

“Where at?”

“I don’t know! It’s downtown somewhere. Dad, it’s just downtown. We’ll find it.” I pulled my jacket back on. He took the baseball glove. It fit his left hand; he was left handed—not a good match. “So where are we going?” I asked.

“ I don’t know, Dad.”He ran to the door. “It’s downtown.” Saint John was not a big city. There were only a few blocks in either direction. “ I think it’s in the south end, Dad.” My son stared at me and held his glove. “ We’ll find it.”

We crossed the city center and entered the south end. We saw a few kids with gloves on their hands. “ I guess we’re heading in the right direction, son. Those kids look like they are ready for a baseball game.”

Justin’s eyes were sparkled with excitement, “ See? I told you, Dad.”“ I always believe in you, Justin.” I replied with a big smile. We found the field. The wind froze the parents through to the bone, but the kids failed to notice it. Their minds were on baseball.

It was a rag-tag group of boys and girls, just enough to form three teams. It was a poor league and there were no uniforms. They were lucky to have shirts that matched. They played in T-shirts and jeans. The young kids had no idea where the ball was to be thrown. I would have laughed, but my son was one of the ones throwing the ball to the wrong base. The three teams battled with each other, won and lost. The coaches, who were actually just elder kids, were patient. It was a game and they treated it that way. At the same time, they taught and encouraged the younger players.

I heard that they would take part in the city baseball competition the next summer.

Nine months later, in winter, they attended the second city baseball competition.