My wild little pitcher who wouldn't quit

We hadn't talked about it. And I could tell from her reaction that she hadn't thought about it.

My daughter, Tess, has been learning how to pitch. My dad, who coached softball for decades, got her started. And although melding myriad mechanics into a smooth softball windup is no easy task, early evidence suggests that she has a knack for it. The progress she's made is remarkable, and it's great to see her enjoy firing that ball surprisingly hard with her 11-year-old noodle arm.

Then came Sunday afternoon.

She was pitching in the first inning for her Hy-Vee team. It was going OK. Some strikes. Some balls. Above all, Tess looked like she was having a good time.

Then she wound up and sent a pitch into the middle of the batter's back, with a dull thud.

Coaches went to check on the batter, who was in momentary pain but otherwise OK. Tess put a hand over her mouth. Her eyes got wide. She walked up to check on the batter. Then her wide eyes filled with tears.

She stuck with it, but the smile was long gone. She pitched another inning later in the game. Sure enough, she hit another batter. More tears.

She struggled, but finished the inning.

This was something I should have prepared her for, but it never occurred to me. When you've played ball and watched it as much as I have over the years, getting hit by a pitch isn't usually a big deal. In high school, I got plunked more times than I can remember.

But here's Tess, who had never even put on a glove until last summer, and who had never inflicted real pain on anyone, with the exception of her little sister's mental anguish. This clearly caught her by surprise, like a pitch in the back.

I had to fight my instincts, which were automatically set to bristle at this tearful overreaction to such an ordinary part of the game. Shake it off. Toughen up. But then it occurs to you that there are worse things in the world than having a kid who feels bad when she hurts someone.

And as bad as she felt, she just kept on winding up and pitching. Into the dirt, way outside, over the catcher's head, sure, but she didn't stop working her way out of the jam.

And that's why we're proud of her, and why I think she'll probably be back on the mound. And who knows, maybe, some day, if she keeps throwing, this sort of thing won't even faze her. Tears will be replaced by veins of ice water. Still, we'll know what's underneath.