Free Joey Pigza Loses Control by Jack Gantos Page B

and I could go back to the mound and do only what I was good at, which was throw hard at the catcher’s glove and let the rest of the team do everything else.
    We beat Ritter’s Diner seven to three. It was easy.
And I could tell that the people who saw the game knew what Dad knew, that I was an awesome caveman with a rock.
    The moment I struck out the last batter Dad got all happy again and stopped being so intense, which made me happy too. “That’s my boy out there!” he yelled to everyone in the stands. “He’s the pride of the Pigzas!” Even Grandma stood and held Pablo up to her chest and he was yapping and paddling his arms and legs with happiness just as Dad was. I stood on the mound and wished that moment would never end. But it did. People stopped cheering and started walking toward their cars and I put the ball on the rubber and headed for the dugout.
    Instead of going home Leezy invited us to the store. She and Grandma and Pablo went to pick up a pizza. On the way over Dad kept talking and talking about how I crushed them, stomped them, and atomized them. I looked over at his mouth, which never seemed to close—not even the lips touched together—and it made me dizzy to listen to him, and I cringed when he said he’d been “ thinking again.”
    â€œYour coming to visit has been the greatest gift to me,” he said. “You make me feel like a winner. That is the best thing that has ever happened to me except now I feel so darn guilty .” He hung his head. “I’ve been an awful dad and here you are a great kid and I sure would feel a lot better if I could give you
something so great it would make up for everything .”
    I was going to tell him that it wasn’t important to make up for everything. That what we were doing right now was fine with me, but before I could get my thoughts into words he suddenly swerved sharply and stopped in front of a little store. “Be right back,” he said, and left the engine running.
    As soon as he was out of sight I slid over to the driver’s seat. I held the steering wheel. I reached forward and touched the gas pedal with my toe. The engine roared. I pressed the brake.
    I was adding up how many years it would be before I got my license when Dad jumped into the passenger side with a bag of ice. “Put it in gear, big man, and take me to the mall.”
    â€œAre you joking?” I asked.
    â€œHalf,” he said. “But give it a try. If you mess up I’ll just reach over and grab the wheel.”
    Maybe this is what happens when you become a winner, I thought. You get to do really good stuff. I put my foot on the brake and pushed the gearshift into reverse and when I lifted my foot we rolled out into the street.
    â€œPut it in drive,” Dad said.
    I did. Then I straightened out the wheel and pressed on the gas, but I was so short that when I slouched down to press the gas I couldn’t see over the dashboard. Then I felt Dad grab the steering wheel.

    â€œYou work the pedals,” he said, “I’ll work the wheel.” And we did that all the way into the parking lot.
    â€œCan I get a car?” I asked.
    â€œSure,” he said. “I started driving when I was your age. My dad had a farm and I used to drive the tractor everywhere.”
    That made me happy and all I could think about was me behind the wheel of a car, zipping all over the place with Pablo sitting up on the dashboard like some kind of yapping dog horn.
    As soon as we got to the mall I wanted to run around and do all the kid stuff. “Can I have fifty cents?” I asked Dad. “I want to ride the bucking bronco.”
    He dug into his pocket and pulled out a dime. “Go over to the wishing well,” he said, pointing to a little fountain. “See if there are some quarters in there.”
    â€œI can’t do that,” I said. “It’s stealing.”
    â€œNo