Cotton-eyed Hoe said:CDAGRIZ said:Cotton-eyed Hoe said:CDAGRIZ said:Not sure about that. I was chucking Ds by 12. Pops said he didn't care about the regulations on little league breaking balls or battery weight restrictions. Now, these little kids have their damned unions . . .
Chucking Ds by 12??!! Listen, CDA. I'm certainly not calling you a liar, but is it possible that you've got your wires crossed a little here? I mean, it's quite common for folks to muck up the difference between Cs and Ds, and there's not an ounce of shame in it, either (especially given your tender age).
Fun little side-story: My daddy had a real gift for analogy, and frequently would pack as much of it into a "teachable moment" as he possibly could. One afternoon, he and I were hiking in the mountains behind our cabin. At one point, we came upon several piles of animal scat. He pointed to the first, and said, "See that there? Those droppings about the size of milk duds? Those are Elk." A few yards away, he pointed to another pile of scat. "Those? A little bigger, aren't they. Well, those Spanish olive-sized lunkers are Moose. He then placed a C battery next to the Elk scat, and a D next to the Moose. I've not confused the one for the other since.
Your pops is/was a great man. I cannot think of a better way to teach a youngster about battery size. I assure you, however, that my 12-year-old arm hucked more than a few Ds. Cs were reserved for CBB games. I knew the difference because I come from such a long line of battery throwers. My old man put a D-cell in my crib before a baseball or football. I used it for teething. He knew I would stand a far better chance of success with the former than a real sport. He was correct.
I do apologize for my skeptical tone of earlier, CDA; you clearly benefited from parents that "got it", and set you up for success from the get-go. Such examples of responsible parenting are not easy to come by, and I appreciate you sharing the story of your formative years with us all. :thumb:
No worries at all, CEH. We all learned sooner or later. My parents did indeed "get it", and I don't blame them for the fact that triangles taste orange to me.