Norman Rockwell- Baseball Painting

My name is Norman Rockwell. I am twelve years old, and I want to play major league baseball. This is how I'd spend my summers: my bright blue eyes glued to the hole in this very fencepost. I could neve rafford tickets to the games, but this was almost as good as front row seats to me. I suuppose I could make a greater effort to mow a few more lawans and wash a few more cars to scrap up enough money, but that would cut into baseball. Watching it, playing it- I'm convinced baseball is waht I'm meant for. This fencepost, it taught me the wonders of the game. Through my unexpected vantage point, I can absorb what the general public cannot. The breathless conversation between players, the sweat glistening on their foreheads, the clouds of dirt as they slide into third. There was a reason I discovered this window into the game. I was preparing for the other side of the fence. For the ballgame that I would play. So last summer, I took my pocket knife, and carefully carved my name into the aged wood. That way, when I was a hot-shot baseball player, wearing the uniform, on that field, living the dream... I could never forget where it all began.