Crash-land

Opposite the Peapack Gladstone Pond, a gathering of mothers and children encircle a baseball diamond. After innings, snacks are distributed to the little ball players who trot about identically clad in red sweat wristbands. Down the hill, I am content to play alone. But interfering mothers place me and another toddler on opposite ends of the seesaw. I decide that this stranger doesn’t interest me, so I dismount, leaving her to crash-land in the wood chips below. Embarrassed, my mother has me apologize, and I obey, grudgingly and without sincerity. Afterall, I didn’t want to play in the first place.