In Bloom

by Paul Tremblay

He was a big, muscular man who, no matter the cold, had his sleeves rolled up over his thick forearms. On rides home I endured his extended critiques and criticism, which centered on my lack of aggressiveness and courage at the plate and my inability to pay attention in the field. I remember so many of those car rides, me in the back seat, him glaring at me in the rearview mirror, which was only large enough to reflect his disappointed eyes.

my childhood lol