It was perfect yet it had no name. At not one that I could remember. It felt so perfect and folded perfectly just as it should. It went with me everywhere that summer, to the corn fields, to the park, and of course on my bed. It seemed magical and was a hand-me-down from my older brother. Stuff you get from your big brother is always magical, at least it was to me. I was the youngest and when your oldest brother gives you something, you treasure it. He was left handed like I was. I took good care of it to ensure its longevity. My hand felt amazing in it. We played 500 in the softball diamond and I remember making a catch for 100 points with this magical glove. The ball smacked the leather. There’s nothing like the sound of a baseball hitting the glove outside of a wooden bat cracking the same baseball. Nothing. It is a rite of passage. A summer sound.
It was perfect and yet had no name.