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Sunday Outing

It was going to be a beautiful spring Sunday, which meant Jack knew for sure what he’d be up to.

A big breakfast at home, Sunday school, lunch at Grandma’s, and then maybe a bike ride or hike at the park in the afternoon.

It was the same thing they did every Sunday, and Jack loved it all. He was a lucky kid … at least that’s what his mom and dad told him. And he believed it, too.


Problem was, this Sunday, the mighty New York Yankees were in town to play his Cincinnati Reds, and that never happened.

Well, almost never.

Timmy Watson told Jack about the time his dad took him to the ballpark to see the Reds and Yankees play, but that was a few years back and, well, Timmy fibbed a lot.

Jack knew for sure the game was happening this time around, though, because he had been reading about it on the internet for weeks. It was the match-up of the century, the reporters said, what with both teams already way out in front of their leagues as mid-May approached.

But the game started a 1 pm, and Jack knew the family would be at Grandma’s house until at least two, and then they would have their afternoon outing.

Jack was going to miss the whole game, and all he could do was wait for the highlights that night.

“You about ready?” Walt was sitting on the couch as Jack passed through the living room on his way to the kitchen for breakfast. Jack stopped and studied his father, who wore blue jeans and a t-shirt, with a Reds hat on his head.

“Dad?” Jack was thrown off by Walt’s attire and location … the rest of the family was already clanking silverware and talking in the kitchen.

“Are you ready?” Walt repeated. He looked the boy up and down. “You going to wear that?”

Jack looked down at his suit — it was his Sunday best, as usual.

“I guess so.” Jack felt like he was walking into a trap.

Walt stood and walked toward his son, extending his hand. In it were two shiny red and white slips of paper.

“Well, I think you’re going to look pretty silly showing up at the ballpark in your suit, don’t you?”

Jack took the papers and studied them — they were tickets to the Reds game. He shot a furtive look toward the kitchen.

“What about church?” he whispered.

Walt smiled and lowered his voice. “I think it will still be there next week. Go get changed before your mother notices we’re missing from the breakfast table.”

As Jack scurried off to his room, Walt winked at his wife, who stood smiling in the kitchen doorway.

Published inFlash Fiction

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