Make way for the 5 foot 5, 120 pound giants. Move over small kids. Puberty wins. He may have only been 4 foot 11 and 95 pounds but hey – he was a bar mitzvah for crying out loud! Didn’t that make him a man? Apparently not. Apparently his size 4 nike cleat ran just a little too small. Nevermind that the coach threw like a girl and that he didn’t know the first thing about baseball, the kid was not going to make the team. His friends half a foot taller than him? Sure, they make the cut. "You, kid, will be playing summer ball, not with the school team," the coach told him. All he had to do was keep gutting it out, wait for that growth spurt, wait for some hair under his arms, wait for that one-size-fits-all stretchy cap to finally fit him. Wait for puberty.
From that day forward, he would draw pencil lines in the inside of his closet door, measuring himself to see if his growth spurt had come. Once a month he would convince himself that he was taller, weigh himself and convince himself that he was heavier no matter what the measurements read. He was going to make the team.
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