A little girl with ribbons in her hair, I’d stretch out my arms and cup my hands.
“Ready?”
Something always distracted me, like an itch on my leg, which I must scratch. The ball would flash past, mocking me by thudding against the garden fence.
In his day Dad was a superb athlete. He’s intrepid, even now. On his eightieth birthday, we climbed the spiral staircase up the church tower. He wished to see the view. When he missed his footing, I caught him.