Reference no: EM133269516

One of the themes developed in this passage is related to the narrator's decision to quit baseball and pursue acting. Describe a theme related to this event and the narrator's characterization and explain how this theme is developed in the passage. Use evidence from the passage to support your answer.

"You're coming with us to watch your sister play softball, young man," my mom warned, "or else you're not going to the spring dance." So unfair. She knew how desperately I wanted to go to the dance.

"But it's an all-day tournament," I whined. I didn't want to waste another beautiful Saturday squinting from the stands of a softball field.

"It's the least you can do," my mother retorted. "She attended all your tournaments back when you still cared about what matters."

Ever since I confessed to my parents that I didn't want to play baseball anymore, they've claimed that I don't care about things that matter. They say I'm throwing my future away and wasting my talents. All I know is that I feel like I threw away years of my life playing baseball, and I just don't care to partake anymore.

Last spring in my English class, I read a part from Romeo and Juliet aloud in class, and I really enjoyed it. I liked pretending to be someone else and feeling like I was a part of a bigger story. My teacher commented that I was good, too, and each time we read in class, I got a bigger part. By the end of the play, I got to play Romeo in the final scene in the crypt. I know I wasn't as good as many actors, but, I swear, I saw a girl wipe a tear from her eye.

So this year, I decided to try out for the school play. I was nervous about the audition and fairly certain that I wouldn't even get a role, so I neglected to inform my parents about it. I just skipped baseball practice one day and went to the auditorium. Actually, I'd been skipping practice fairly regularly by that point. I used to love baseball, I really did. My whole family was invested, as well; they'd all attend my games, and we'd ecstatically recount each exciting play on the ride home. The older I got and the better I got, however, the less fun it became. I realized we weren't so much enjoying the game anymore as tracking my batting statistics and analyzing how I could perform better to draw the attention of talent scouts. When my parents began to seriously discuss hiring a private coach, I started secretly skipping practice; it was too much pressure, and I realized there were other things happening beyond the practice diamond. I had chosen to participate in theater, but there was also debate club, science club, band, performance choir-the opportunities beyond athletics seemed endless.

When I told my parents that I had landed a role in the school play-the leading role, in fact-you could have heard a pin drop. My parents were speechless, disappointment clearly etched on their faces.

So, after my mom's ultimatum about my sister's softball game, I retreated to my room, throwing myself on the bed. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door; my sister peered in cautiously.

"Hey," she said. "I'm sorry about Mom."

"It's okay," I sighed. "It's not your fault."

"It kind of is, though. I really want you to be at my game on Saturday. It's more fun when you're there; it reminds me of all those times I sat and watched you play. I was always so proud of you; I like to think you feel the same about me!"

I stared at her with my mouth open. In all this awkward disagreeing with my parents, I hadn't considered how my sister might feel. "You really enjoyed coming to my games?" I quizzed her.

"Well, yeah. In fact, I kind of miss it."

"Well, you can come to the play," I chortled. "It's not like Mom and Dad are going to be there!"

She laughed and rolled her eyes, "Oh, I wouldn't miss your stage debut for anything. And hey-Mom and Dad might just surprise you."

After she left, I lay there reminiscing about all the games of mine she'd sat through. My sister had played an important role in what made baseball so fun, before it got too serious. I knew what I needed to do.

I went to my sister's softball game, after all; instead of taking my script to practice my lines like I'd planned, I sat next to my dad, anxiously waiting for some meaningful communication. At the close of the second inning, after we'd only exchanged a few casual bits of conversation, I trekked over to the concession stand, returning with a heaping plate of nachos for him, with extra jalapenos on the side, just like he liked it. I extended the plate like an olive branch.

Seeing his favorite game time snack, my father grinned sheepishly. He seemed genuinely surprised at first, but graciously accepted the nachos. Soon we were talking and laughing, just as we used to. My mom soon joined in, and, after the game, my sister did, too. Any time they started making comments about her stats or anything serious, I gently steered the conversation to lighter fare. It felt so good to be with my family again. I didn't miss playing baseball, but I missed the good times with my family.

Later that night, I was putting some school papers on my mom's desk when something caught my eye: three tickets for the opening night of my school play.