Nolan Ryan

The Good News: our son is talented, energetic, and athletic. One of his earliest words was "touchdown" and he loves identifying any Redskins logo in the immediate area, but with football season behind us, the ever-present basketball out in the cul-de-sac has become his new imaginary best friend. Whenever we can redirect him indoors, the ball is his favorite toy, and The Ball comes in many sizes. Small little hand-sized plastic ones, head-sized cushiony ones, inflatable bowling-ball sized ones, even my giant exercise ball. Even the nerfy football, unround, yet fully grippable by the half-pint. He will throw and throw and throw and throw. Halfway down the hall, right up in your face, or onto a dog's head, he throws the ball and throws the ball.

We continue to try and get him to catch the ball. But into each bridge a life must crawl unto pass. Or something.

The Bad News: our son loves to throw. He has now discovered that food flies pretty far, nearly as far as his good pal The Ball. He also likes to practice his throwing motion even without a ball in his hand, resulting in smacks to the face of any one (or pet) in the vicinity. So while we work on encouraging his grasp of the split-fingered fastball, we continue to discourage his emulation of the GI Joe with the Kung Fu Grip.