When I moved to Texas as a single mom in 1982, I did my best to ensure my son, Marty, a mere first-grader, made new friends. I wanted him to belong, to not feel alone in our new place. So, one day at JC Penney’s, he was picking out a new ball glove for his team. And I touched the adult gloves, sliding my right hand into one. The memories flooded back, and my fingers melted inside the molded spots inside the glove.
The batter’s box of life