Walking into the sporting goods store, I felt like a kid again. Only this time, my grandparents weren’t there to foot the bill.

From age 5 until I was 18, picking out a new baseball glove became a biannual ritual, one I cherished more than unwrapping gifts on Christmas morning or blowing out candles on a birthday cake. Those years of my life were mostly consumed with being a baseball player, and getting a new glove always served to add to my already considerable eagerness to practice and play.

A few weeks ago, at least seven years removed from picking up a bat or lacing up a pair of cleats, I strolled into The Sports Authority in Winston-Salem with the same wide-eyed anticipation I had as a boy. My mind was focused on finding just the right glove for the upcoming season.

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