Don’t Worry about it, Pops.

He read something like, “Don’t worry
about it, Pops. Even Willie Mays drop-
ped a few pop-ups, especially toward

the end of his career.” The reader im-
mediately felt cleansing water wash
over him all these years later. He had

been the star of the team. One player
had told the man’s son that the team
was lucky to have his father playing.

Then one day it happened. He had gone
for a long run and still had to play that
evening. He was tired and misjudged

a fly ball to deep left field. It hit his glove,
popped out and fell to the ground with
a thud the fielder thought must have

been heard all the way to heaven or
hell. They lost the game, he lost his
nerve as a fielder and that was that

until he read those words, “Don’t worry
about it…Even Willie Mays dropped
some….” It seemed so small, so insig-

nificant, and yet, he knew, when he felt
the water rush over him, redemption with-
out ever having to field another fly ball.

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