Last year, part of Wonder Boy’s social life was with a group of sweet ladies I could not connect with for the life of me. (I don’t see them anymore except randomly every few months at a park).
One of the first times I went to a park with this group Wonder Boy was wearing his Angels baseball cap that was the first purchase Mr. Wonder made upon hearing he was getting a son.
<insert other cliches here>
He really does have a head for hats, like his momma.
One of the other moms, admiring how cute he was in his hat (as the only boy, he had all the female attention there that day) and she noticed the reflective sticker on the inside of the bill of the hat.
She said she knew what that reflective sticker was.
I was a little surprised, but intrigued and asked her to tell me.
Not surprised that a girl would know it was the holographic sticker showing the Major League Baseball emblem denoting the hat as an official MLB hat (my son gets only the best Angels gear).
But surprised she said it as if it was a secret only the players knew.
We leaned in.
“It’s a mirror for the pitcher,” she said.
She explained it was a mirror for the pitcher, so he could see someone trying to steal the plate behind him.
I tried as hard as I could to not stare at her incredulously.
Who could be so gullible? Did this stem from childhood, with an ill-meaning brother and grew leaps and bounds by boyfriends who did not want to hurt her feelings? Or had she come upon it at home and wanted to share her knowledge with other women she believed was as naive about baseball as she?
I never did figure out. As sweetly and calmly as I could say it, without laughing, I told her I had never thought of that.
And with that sweetly intended remark, I kept the tradition of the reflective stickers in baseball caps. No doubt the major leaguers wish they knew that tip.
She smiled, proud to share knowledge, and I took the next chance to text the conversation to my husband so I could release some of the pent-up giggles via LOL-ing and explanation marks.
‘We’ tried looking around using my son’s (by that time) discarded hat to see behind us, and decided it needed an adult hat.
Thankfully, that ended the conversation until later, when I again told it to my laughing, disbelieving husband, who told all of his mechanic co-workers the next day.
That night, tried as I might, I couldn’t see behind me in my husband’s hat either.
Those pitchers must be talented.