It’s an annual tradition. Every Spring, I desperately try to learn the names on the Little League baseball team. After all, there’s only so many times that you can address every kid as “Buddy.”

In order to help me learn names, I developed a drill. The kids stand in a line and take turns throwing me a ball. As the kid throws the ball, they say their name. As I catch it, I repeat the boy’s name. For example, the kid says, “Toby!” Catching the ball, I say, “Great throw, Toby!” By the way, they’re not always good throws and they’re rarely named Toby.

After a while, I begin to test out their names. For instance, the kid approaches and I go, “Toby (?), throw it to me.” By the way, a lot go by me, even throws from kids not named Toby.

Well, I was doing the drill today. A kid approached. I thought I knew him. I said, “Okay Mason, throw me the ball.” Frustrated and confused, the boy said, “I’m Ben!” Yes, that would be my son Ben.

Uh, what’s the name of my optometrist? I think a checkup is overdue.