The Last Time
A guy on Twitter posted the following:
“There was a time when you and your friends went out to play, for the last time, and none of you actually knew it.”
Pulls at the heartstrings, right?
I instantly thought about the baseball games we used to play in my parents backyard. We used to play with a tennis ball. A hit into the pool was a homerun. Kids came from all over to play.
The games ended when our power (mostly Renaldo’s power) had us hitting bombs off the house...which was a long ways away.
Regardless, there was a final game...
...and none of us were aware.
Things change, but it doesn’t mean we can’t miss them!
I thought of it again as the tree went up.
Our kids used to pull us out of bed by 5:00 when they were aware that Santa was due.
Those were rough mornings, especially after a little egg nog, but now...
...I miss it.
There had been a last time there.
And I read through the comments on the thread.
“One day your mother put you down and never picked you up again.”
That’s also true...
...we go through “last times” all the time and we don’t know it.
That’s why every time counts.
The sadness didn’t last long...
...because even though there was a last time that we played tennis ball baseball in my parents backyard...
...I smiled...
...’cause we played the hell out of it.
“There was a time when you and your friends went out to play, for the last time, and none of you actually knew it.”
Pulls at the heartstrings, right?
I instantly thought about the baseball games we used to play in my parents backyard. We used to play with a tennis ball. A hit into the pool was a homerun. Kids came from all over to play.
The games ended when our power (mostly Renaldo’s power) had us hitting bombs off the house...which was a long ways away.
Regardless, there was a final game...
...and none of us were aware.
Things change, but it doesn’t mean we can’t miss them!
I thought of it again as the tree went up.
Our kids used to pull us out of bed by 5:00 when they were aware that Santa was due.
Those were rough mornings, especially after a little egg nog, but now...
...I miss it.
There had been a last time there.
And I read through the comments on the thread.
“One day your mother put you down and never picked you up again.”
That’s also true...
...we go through “last times” all the time and we don’t know it.
That’s why every time counts.
The sadness didn’t last long...
...because even though there was a last time that we played tennis ball baseball in my parents backyard...
...I smiled...
...’cause we played the hell out of it.
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