Dear Henry

We are in St. Michaels for the weekend. Today we went to the county fair.



Papa Teddy got Joe a pitching machine which has been a "big hit." Sorry, bad joke. The machine throws the ball 50 miles an hour, and Joe has no trouble hitting it. When we point it up toward the ski the machine throws great pop-ups. I was putting the balls in rapid-fire and Joe was having a blast catching them.

On Saturday morning I woke up to Joe standing beside the bed holding my glove. I said this to you once before, but your little brother is so much like a puppy. Instead of bringing a leash to get someone to take him for a walk, Joe brings a baseball glove so someone - me - will pitch to him or play catch.

After a spectacular catch I said to your brother that I am not sure what Micky Mantle looked like when he was a five year old, but I bet he looked something like Joe.

Joe quickly replied that Micky Mantle didn't look like Joe when he was five because Micky had blonde hair. That was great.

In the car on the way to St. Michaels, Joe said that he wished that you had lived until you were fourteen. I asked if it was so that you would know Joe when he was 8, but that wasn't really his thinking. I am not sure how he picked 14.