Ten-year old Bobby didn’t know what hit him.
It was a baseball, for sure, and that explained the nosebleed and subsequent visit to the optometrist’s for a new pair of eyeglasses.
But he wasn’t looking. As a matter of fact, things were changing, and he knew he wasn’t seeing right. But what was he looking for? It was a confusing time.
Mum was anxiously papering over the cracks in their placid suburban life, too busy to notice that puberty was just a nose-bleed away.
Bobby was convinced by the optometrist. Four eyes was better than two.
This was a whole new ballgame, and he was ready to play.
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