Five minutes earlier...
"Let's try this again!" Barked a 38 year old man as he glared at his hopeless son. David had been trying for years to get his boy on the team. After coaching for a year before his son was even born, he had expected Colin to have inherited some of his talent.
He hadn't.
Colin was barely on the JV team and mostly because of his position. The boy just couldn't hack it. He was a weak little nerd. However, David still continued to push him, trying to get him at least in the outfield before he graduated.
Colin watched his father pace back and forth giving his usual advice of keeping an eye on the ball, following through, and all that other stuff. He had heard it for the last 15 years. While he may have peaked in his second year of T-ball with a double, he knew in his heart that baseball was his dad's true love. Even if this was miserable. Even if he hated the disappointed way his dad would huff and puff his advice, his dad loved baseball. So in spite of his complete lack of talent, he would continue to try and try and try to participate in the one thing he knew his dad loved.
Lost in thought, Colin finally focused in on his dad. He had stopped pacing and was now standing ready to throw another pitch right down the center. All Colin had to do was keep his head down, his grip firm, and his eye on the ball. He pushed his glasses back up on his face and took his stance.
As his dad reeled back to hurl the ball. Colin blinked. Then, realizing the pitch was almost on him, he swung with all his might. There was a pinging noise and a recoil from the bat that was almost unfamiliar. He had done it. The ball wasn't just tipped. He hadn't swung and missed. There it went up and out just like his dad always said.
Colin's heart soared and then rapidly sunk as he heard the crash of glass on his neighbors window.
"Damn it." He heard his father say.
Then, a dejected Colin and a pissed off David made their way to the front door of their weird neighbor.
An angry looking man came to the door. "What do you want?" Chuck said.
David spoke first. My son hit a ball through your kitchen window. Chuck turned around and spied some broken glass glittering on dirty linoleum past the living room carpet. To be fair, he had been awfully distracted by the show going on at his other neighbor's upstairs bathroom.
Chuck turned back around to face the pair. The little nerd of a son started speaking, "I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to break your window—" his dad interrupted "The kid's never hit a ball before. It could hardly be expected."
Chuck was already aggravated with the interruption but the condescension in the tone sparked something within him. He knew how it meant to be looked down on, to be treated differently. He hated that dismissive tone.
Instead of shooing them off so he could get back to his favorite family, Chuck invited them in.