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“You were struck out by a girl!” a kid yelled.
I looked up, trying to figure out what was going on. The kids waiting to bat were taunting the one who was just at bat. Cammie was the pitcher. Another kid repeated the taunt. And another. I watched in shock as Cammie marched from the pitcher’s mound to the bench. “What did you say?”
I should have stepped in, but I was rooted to the spot.
The kid squared his shoulders and faced her. “I said he,” he pointed at the batter, “was struck out by a girl.”
I expected Cammie to put her hands on her hips like she always did with me. Instead, she curled her fingers into a fist, reared back, and punched the kid in the face.
“Oh, shit,” I said, running toward them, unsure how to handle the situation. I pulled Cammie away from the kid. My heart was pounding in my ear. “We don’t hit. You need to apologize.”
“I won’t,” she said stubbornly.
“You will.” I was locked in a battle of wills in front of everyone watching. I wondered if I’d handled it correctly or if there was some other thing I should be doing right now.
“She hit my boy,” a mother said as she ran up to the kid to examine his face.
“I’m sorry about that.” I could have pointed out that her kid wasn’t being nice either, butCammie had punched him. That negated almost anything else the kid had done to deserve it. Inwardly, I was a little pleased that she’d clocked him. I knew what that kid was insinuating.
“He acted like it was bad to be struck outby a girl.”
“It sucks to be struck out at any time, but he could have handled it better, and I know you could have, too. Now apologize.”
Cammie took a deep breath and moved closer to the injured boy. “I’m sorry I punched you.”
The boy didn’t say anything. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he looked stubbornly away from her.
I touched Cammie’s shoulder and steered her to her bag. “Come on. You’re done for the day.”
“What did you say?” Cammie asked, her lips set in a stubborn frown.
“You need a time-out.” I gathered her stuff while she stomped along behind me.
“Why?”
“You acted inappropriately, and you need time to cool down.” I sounded like my parents. When did I start saying things like,“You acted inappropriately?”
I tried not to think about how the other parents were probably judging my parenting abilities and finding me lacking. My daughter just punched a kid.
I wanted her to stick up for herself, but she’d gone overboard.
She followed behind me as I stalked toward the parking lot. I wanted her to know I wasn’t happy with her behavior. I wouldn’t tolerate hitting other kids. If someone hit her first, I’d make an exception.
When we got to the car, Cammie said, “He was embarrassed to be struck out by a girl.”
“He was.” I hated that for her. I didn’t want her to hear boys say it was bad to throw like a girl. I wanted to protect her from society’s biases, but I couldn’t. She wanted to play with the boys, and the kids were just repeating things they’d heard.
“Why?”
I groaned inwardly at the question. How did I explain it to her?
“He feels inadequate. It’s not on you,” a familiar voice said. I looked up in surprise, not expecting Brooke to be there.
“It’s not?” Cammie asked as she turned to face Brooke.
I tugged on her ponytail. “No, baby girl.”
“Okay,” Cammie said as she finally climbed into the back of the car. I closed the door, wondering why Brooke had followed us.
