INJURY REPORT: Everything Was Great Until I Got Hit in the Face with a Baseball


IMG_3351True story: I was having a wonderful time in Clearwater, Florida, playing for the Albany Capitals in a men’s 50-up hardball tournament. The team had rented condos on the beach, I had a great view from my balcony, the fields were pristine, I was playing reasonably okay.

I was the crafty lefty who could still get batters out with an array of slop. Hey, that’s not a terrible thing.

Down the right field line: The scene of my misadventure.

Down the right field line: The scene of my misadventure.

 

All smiles before the game. I had to get a photo of this teammate, who we called "ZZ" for obvious reasons.

All smiles before the game. I had to get a photo of this teammate, who we called “ZZ” for obvious reasons.

And then, while playing RF at beautiful Spectrum Field (home of the Phillies A-level minor league team), I ran a long way to field a fly ball on the line. I got there but lost the ball in the lights at the last moment. And wham, the ball hit me directly in the face. I was stunned and embarrassed and deeply concerned about my health. It reach for my nose; it was still there. I felt blood pooling in my mouth. The roof of my mouth seemed wholly altered. I checked for my teeth. And I did not wonder, not for one second, what happened to the baseball or the baserunners or the score of the game. I just wanted to be okay.

Minutes later, I was on the bench, spitting out huge amounts of blood, grateful that I still had my teeth. For the moment, at least. Next I took a trip to Urgent Care. One nurse looked at me, said, “Oh my gosh,” and sent me to the hospital. They insisted I spend the night. CT scans, and so on.

 

 

The game was at a "real" minor league field. Sweet dugouts with a tunnel that led to indoor batting cages and locker rooms. I took this photo a few minutes after sitting on the bench, spitting blood, dazed and down-hearted.

The game was at a “real” minor league field. Sweet dugouts with a tunnel that led to indoor batting cages and locker rooms. I took this photo a few minutes after sitting on the bench, spitting blood, dazed and down-hearted.

The next day, after an overnight in the hospital — fearing these Florida doctors, who didn’t seem to know anything — who kept talking about “pulling teeth” and “multiple fractures” and “possible bleeding in my brain” — I flew back home to NY for a hasty visit with an oral surgeon.

Goodbye Florida, three nights early. It was totally great until it suddenly so wasn’t.

Yesterday, with my wife at my side, the evaluation was far more optimistic than I’d been led to believe. Overall, no structural damage. My cheekbones, my jaw, good. My upper palate suffered some trauma but should heal itself. Some teeth might not make it, but maybe they will. Soft foods for next 10 days. We’ll wait and see how the body reacts.

View from my balcony, shared with 3 other teammates.

View from my balcony, shared with 3 other teammates.

I didn’t lose an eye. Whatever is broken can be repaired. I’m okay. Amazingly.

I caught a baseball with my face and I’m going to be perfectly fine.

So now I am left feeling sheepish, a little humiliated. The day before, I had pitched a solid game against a very good team, leaving in the 8th inning with a slim lead. The story in my head was a good one. I was 56 years old, having a great time in Florida, still competing, still a semi-athlete who can help his team win games. The next day I’m knocked down in the outfield, the ball is bouncing away, and I’m wondering what in the world I’m doing out here. Playing the outfield under the stupid lights. I hadn’t played a night game in over 17 years. I always play in natural light. My eyes are failing. I’m getting old and diminished. Who was I fooling?

I felt, right then, like an idiot. Ashamed. Never again, I thought to myself.

And yet 24 hours earlier, my story was completely different. Which one was true? Which image of myself was accurate?

I think in the end both narratives are true. Like Whitman said, I am large; I contain multitudes. I’m both things, the still-good player and the diminished fool with failing eyes and lost skills. I got injured and it was completely my fault. No one to blame but myself.

So now I’m home with a sore face and luscious, full lips. I might finally lose that last 5 pounds I’ve been unable to take off. I’ll work on Monday. And we’ll see how it goes.

Life turns on a dime, doesn’t it?

A quick snap back when everything was going great, glad to be exactly in that spot, preparing to play another ballgame.

A quick snap back when everything was going great, glad to be exactly in that spot, preparing to play another ballgame.

 

During the Day, I Don’t Believe in Ghosts . . .

 

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Found this meme the other day and it made me laugh. I believe that kids know what they like and don’t like, what works for them and what, well, doesn’t. In a room full of peers they might all raise they hands when asked if they like scary stories, but privately they might answer differently. It’s important to me on school visits to respect that distinction. I don’t talk about these books below 3rd grade and always in terms of the creative process — asking “What if?” questions — developing story ideas.

At book festivals I’ll meet young readers who looooove this series. They are disappointed there are only six titles. (I know that feeling; so am I.) Other kids reach a little hesitantly for one of the books. Drawn to it, curious, but unsure. Maybe Mom stands behind them, a little unsure herself. One tip I share is that if they are at all worried about it, maybe they should first try reading it during the day time. Like the meme says, it’s much easier to believe in scary things when the lights go out.

Here’s a piece of art from the great Iacopo Bruno from Nightmareland. I think of this one as my most Twilight Zone-inspired story, less scary, more twisty. But your mileage may vary.

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Making Connections (and Friends) with a Little Free Library!

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Here’s a quick story:

It was love at first sight. I first heard about Little Free Libraries five or six years ago. There are so many things to like: the community building, the celebration of literacy, the connectivity, and the creativity & craftsmanship of the objects themselves.

When I started writing a new Jigsaw Jones book — my first in ten years, my 41st overall — I knew I wanted to celebrate this small but powerful idea. Take a book, leave a book. So I centered the mystery in The Case from Outer Space around a note left inside a book found in a Little Free Library.

This one of the illustrations from my book, drawn by R.W. Alley:

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I had to create the character who put up this particular Little Free Library. What should he or she be like? Well, wonderful, right? Giving, kind, literate, fun-loving, happy. I decided to model this character — a key witness in our story — after my friend, author Robin Pulver. (She writes the “Language Arts Library” series and the classic “Mrs. Toggle” books, which were also illustrated by R.W. Alley, so there was a nice symmetry to it: you can learn more about Robin here.)

urlI didn’t ask Robin’s permission, I decided to surprise her. Fingers crossed, sensing she’d get a kick out of it.

I enjoyed writing that scene when my imaginary detective, Jigsaw Jones, interviews the fictional “Mrs. Pulver.” It was very meta. Here’s the essence of it, from Chapter 4:

I did push-ups on the Pulvers’ doorbell. A smiling woman with short hair answered the door.

I told her that I was a detective.

“How thrilling,” she said.

“I am working on a case,” I explained. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

I showed her my card:

NEED A MYSTERY SOLVED?

Call Jigsaw Jones or Mila Yeh, Private Eyes!

Mrs. Pulver whistled. “Wowee zowee.”

“It’s a living,” I said.

She told me about the library. She said that she read about Little Free Libraries on the Internet. “I thought it was a wonderful idea,” she said. “So I asked Harold to build one.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Harold?”

“My husband,” she replied. “He’s retired. I like to give him little jobs.”

I asked, “Have you noticed anything . . . strange?”

“Oh, Harold has been strange for years,” she said, laughing.

“No, I mean about the library,” I said.

She clasped her hands. “Lots of folks come and go. Friends, neighbors, even people I’ve never seen before. It’s lovely, actually. The books connect us.”

Here’s a sadly dark photo of Robin and me from last week’s Rochester Children’s Book Festival.

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But wait, I have to tell you about one more cool connection.

Yesterday I received this beautiful book in the mail. A gift from the author herself. A stranger to me, but now a friend.

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Margret Aldrich had discovered the Little Free Library reference in my book and was moved to send along a copy.

Once again I ask myself, How lucky am I?

Books really do connect us.

Margret included a kind inscription:

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Calvin Knows

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This Saturday, November 4th: The Rochester Children’s Book Festival

21686057_1278870868890285_7633552085031309871_nEvery book festival has its own vibe and personality. I’ve been fortunate enough to be invited to participate in the Rochester Children’s Book Festival for the past four or five years. It is cozy, warm, and enthusiastic — much like the city itself. It has an upstate feel. Whereas other book festivals may be bigger and glitzier, the RCBF tops out at under 50 authors and illustrators. It’s manageable, not overwhelming. I like it a lot, very grateful to return again this Saturday. But of course, full disclosure: I’m glad to be invited anywhere! Acutely aware there will come a time when that phone no longer rings.

I’m especially excited to be promoting two new books from 2017: Jigsaw Jones: The Case from Outer Space and Better Off Undead, my new middle-grade title that just came out three days ago — already on its second printing. Get a First Edition while they last. But in any event, stop by and say hello!

Maybe we can discuss my visiting a school in your area. I live in the Albany area, but have enjoyed traveling out that way once or twice a school year.

Details:

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