Granny didn’t go looking for trouble, trouble usually found her, but this time it came in the form of a baseball. It was a bright Saturday morning, the kind where the air smells like freshly cut grass and something sweet from the bakery down the street.
The neighborhood kids were out, including her grandson Tommy, tossing a baseball back and forth in the park. Granny, of course, was sitting on the bench, knitting and pretending she didn’t care.
“Hey, Grandma!” yelled Tommy, “Wanna try?”
Granny squinted, knitting needles frozen mid-air. “Try what?”
“The bat! You never know, you might hit one outta the park!”
Granny gave a slow smile. “I haven’t swung a bat since ’42, and even then.”
The kids laughed, but Tommy was persistent. “C’mon, Grandma! Just one swing!”
Before she could talk herself out of it, Granny took the bat. She stepped up, feet planted, and gave a nod that made it seem like she’d been training for years in secret.
The ball came flying. Granny swung. CRACK!
The baseball soared higher than anyone expected. The kids’ jaws dropped. It landed on the roof of old Mr. Henderson’s shed. For a second, the world held its breath, and then Granny—the very picture of calm and cunning—walked over to the shed, tapped the ball down with the bat, and handed it back to Tommy.
“I think that counts,” she said, dusting off her hands. “And I think it’s about time someone bought me a lemonade for encouragement.”
Tommy laughed so hard he nearly dropped the ball. “Granny, that was amazing! You hit a home run! You’re like a superhero!”
Granny shrugged, knitting needles returning to action. “Don’t make a fuss. You don’t want everyone thinking I can still do everything I did when I was your age. Some secrets are better left to the imagination.”
The kids ran off, talking excitedly about Granny’s legendary hit. Granny leaned back on the bench, sipping her lemonade, and smiled.
Sometimes, she thought, it’s not about skill. It’s about surprising everyone—including yourself.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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