I suspect that I am not the only one whose parents would buy grossly oversized clothing in hopes that they would eventually grow in to them. As a result, my fashion sensibility in the early teen years was virtually non existent, similar to how my stick-thin figure would disappear in the t-shirts that would reach my knees and winter boots that would reach my hips. Contributing to my continued awkwardness was the purchase of my first baseball glove. “Don’t worry, you will grow in to it.” My dad would say as he decided which hand I should catch with.
As I honed my throwing skills on the blacktop of Cliffwood P.S. playing red-A, my glove would often be the victim of criticism. The usual comments ranged from clever - “your glove drags on the ground when you walk”, and obvious - “your glove is so big.”
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