My boy stood at first base, poised to steal on a signal from his coach. Noon sun burned my bare shoulders. This was his first ballgame on his new legs, and he looked concerned about making the sixty-foot run. A mother sitting beside me gave my arm a light punch, said, ?He?s an inspiration.? I would hear that another two hundred times, and hoped it would always sound as fresh.

A wild pitch flew past the catcher and lodged under the backstop. Ryan went, shifting weight from one hip to the other so he could swing each leg forward. To keep his balance he held out his arms like a log roller. The catcher ripped off his mask and scrambled to find the ball. His father told him where to look, and the kid dug it out and made the throw to second. There were boos from the crowd, but my son didn?t make eye contact, just tipped his hat to the sun as he left the field.