Kickaround Kid
It was the top of the ninth, the kid ran out to left field,
it was the last game of the season for the champions of the little league,
Coach had kept him on the bench all summer.
Ah, the splendor of the grass, his new leather mitt,
the bleachers filled with everybody’s parents but his…
so, he never truly felt the joy of winning,
and he only got to play half an inning,
He kept it all in, he was the Kickaround Kid.
They sent the kid off to his Grandmother’s farm,
he spent hours and hours bouncing a ball off the back of the barn
wishing he was Nolan Ryan.
The old woman would take him by the hand, they’d walk the green fields
He’d asked her, “Grandma, how long will I feel this pain that I feel?”
She said, “God only deals us that which we can handle
and nobody ever won a custody battle.”
Keep a stiff upper lip…that’s the Kickaround Kid.
Momma’s in her Sunday shoes, Daddy’s wearing steel-toed boots,
the boy’s got his head hanging down.
Sometimes he can walk the walk, sometimes he just limps along
waiting for the other foot to fall.
Lace up your “Chuck Taylor’s” and run, run like the wind.
But, he can’t outrun the shadow…
…the shadow of the Kickaround Kid.
The kid started thinking maybe he wasn’t right for this world,
he couldn’t relate to alpha males, he had trust issues with girls,
the doctor said he was just awkward.
But, he found solace in melody, in meter, in rhyme,
the emotional introspection of what is and what he’s hoping to find.
He’s hoping to find the meaning of it all,
still bouncing his emotions off the ramshackle walls
of a broken home that never got fixed,
with a broken heart learning to forgive,
And a stiff upper lip…that’s the Kickaround Kid.
Momma’s in her walking shoes, Daddy’s wearing steel-toed boots,
the boy’s got his head hanging down.
Sometimes he can walk the walk, sometimes he still limps along
waiting for the other foot to fall.
“Pick up the guitar and sing us a happy song.”
If you listen real close you’ll hear that little kid singing along.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…”
© Kevin Higgins
Kickaround Kid
It was the top of the ninth, the kid ran out to left field,
it was the last game of the season for the champions of the little league,
Coach had kept him on the bench all summer.
Ah, the splendor of the grass, his new leather mitt,
the bleachers filled with everybody’s parents but his…
so, he never truly felt the joy of winning,
and he only got to play half an inning,
He kept it all in, he was the Kickaround Kid.
They sent the kid off to his Grandmother’s farm,
he spent hours and hours bouncing a ball off the back of the barn
wishing he was Nolan Ryan.
The old woman would take him by the hand, they’d walk the green fields
He’d asked her, “Grandma, how long will I feel this pain that I feel?”
She said, “God only deals us that which we can handle
and nobody ever won a custody battle.”
Keep a stiff upper lip…that’s the Kickaround Kid.
Momma’s in her Sunday shoes, Daddy’s wearing steel-toed boots,
the boy’s got his head hanging down.
Sometimes he can walk the walk, sometimes he just limps along
waiting for the other foot to fall.
Lace up your “Chuck Taylor’s” and run, run like the wind.
But, he can’t outrun the shadow…
…the shadow of the Kickaround Kid.
The kid started thinking maybe he wasn’t right for this world,
he couldn’t relate to alpha males, he had trust issues with girls,
the doctor said he was just awkward.
But, he found solace in melody, in meter, in rhyme,
the emotional introspection of what is and what he’s hoping to find.
He’s hoping to find the meaning of it all,
still bouncing his emotions off the ramshackle walls
of a broken home that never got fixed,
with a broken heart learning to forgive,
And a stiff upper lip…that’s the Kickaround Kid.
Momma’s in her walking shoes, Daddy’s wearing steel-toed boots,
the boy’s got his head hanging down.
Sometimes he can walk the walk, sometimes he still limps along
waiting for the other foot to fall.
“Pick up the guitar and sing us a happy song.”
If you listen real close you’ll hear that little kid singing along.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…”
© Kevin Higgins