My big brother Tommy Curtis was one of the better catchers that the Tipp City High School baseball team had ever seen. He called great games, he always protected the plate, he hardly ever let anyone steal a base on his watch, and he could knock the hell out of the ball.
But that all came to a crushing end on April 13th, 2004. It was the eighth inning in a tie 5-5 ball game. The other team sent a guy home. The centerfielder fired the ball to Tommy. He caught it, turned, prepared for the hit, and boom.
The two high school baseball players collided. The ball rolled out of Tommy's mit. Immediately, everyone knew something was wrong. Tommy was stretchered off the field and taken to the hospital via ambulance. He was pronounced dead later that night. Trauma to the brain. Something about blunt force trauma. I don't really remember exactly what was said. I was in shock. I just lost my brother. My best friend.
I fought depression. Mostly by spending time with friends and playing baseball oddly enough. Mom cried a lot. Dad cried and drank. But things eventually got better. They never got back to the way they were. They never would be able to. But we all began to go about our lives.
Dad was a high school umpire. He took a year off after Tommy's death, but felt like it was time to get back to work. That is until May 4th, 2006. On that date, dad was on his way to a game at Indian Lake High School, which was about an hour away from our town.
About ten minutes outside of Indian Lake, dad's truck collided with a semi-truck going the opposite way. He was killed on impact. Driving to umpire a baseball game.
Baseball. It's torn my family to shreds. It's taken away my father and my big brother. It's left my mother a lonely widow who barely speaks. So why do I love the damn game so much? I guess because it's all I've ever known.
My name is Simon Curtis, and this is my story.
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