I'm Probably Better Than Their Shortstop, Right?

Last week I skipped out to catch a ballgame at the stadium. When I mentioned to Fiona that I'd been to see the Yankees, she got very excited:

"Did you hit the ball?" she asked.

It seems it had never occurred to her that people sometimes just go to watch ballgames. Come to think of it, I can see why that would seem extremely peculiar to a three-year old.

And she hasn't quite figured out how American professional sports work anyway. When we watch a game on TV, I've started explaining to her that there is a pitcher and a batter. Fiona's most common question regarding the pitcher is:

"Is that pitcher a boy or a girl?"

Ila Borders efforts in independent league baseball aside, this isn't a question you'd think to ask after a certain age. There's something admirable about not having had all the innocence pounded out of you just yet. Of course, in Fiona's mind, girls get to do all the cool stuff anyway.

I should add that it's a lot easier to answer that question when we're watching TV together than when she points at somebody as we walk down the street and loudly inquires as to that person's gender. I don't know if it's better or worse when she asks it about somebody who is very obviously one or the other (I mean, I definitely have seen some people where I couldn't figure out which chromosome set they used, but I'm rarely confused by a 6'3" businessman in a tailored suit).