Thursday, July 28, 2011

A message from The Coach

I'm not the only writer in the family, you know.

My daughter is, I think, a better writer than I am. Already. She can write fiction. I never could.

And my husband, the coach, likes to write as well. He has a little blog where he ruminates on baseball and life. He has a little trouble with punctuation and capitalization at times, but that's why he married a writer like me! So I can edit him. (Now, how many of you wives have that wish?)

And this is one story I pushed him to write. It's one I would have written, if I were still a hard-working sports writer and not a crime reporter.

For the last two years, my husband, the high school baseball coach, has had a young man on his squad from Norway. Since no one could pronounce his name -- much less spell it -- everyone called him Frito.

It quickly became evident that Frito couldn't play a lick of baseball. But he was a sweet young boy with a very European family. (They came to the U.S. with a young nanny and left with a young baby.)  And The Coach liked him and decided to keep him around the team, as a manager. It worked out well.

But it's really The Coach's story to tell. And he told it well:



Check it out.

Showing my hubby some love. Submitted to Lovelinks 17.
You can too! Link up


1 comment:

  1. I just read it and I loved it. A fitting tribute to that lovely boy Frito. Your hubby writes as well as you.

    ReplyDelete