You're Killin' Me Smalls.

Ohhh hi Grief, I didn’t see you there.

THE most quoted line from the movie Sandlot: You’re Killin’ Me Smalls

I love movie quoting and get overly excited when someone knows my movie quote or movie quotes me. My mom was my favorite movie quoter. On the list of our Top Ten most quoted movies of all time, Sandlot is near the top.

The Cliff Notes for this 90’s classic is the boys try to retrieve a baseball from the neighbor’s backyard. Not just any neighbor - the meanest neighbor with a killer dog. Not just any baseball - the one signed by THE Babe Ruth (pronounced “baaaa-buh not bay-beee” YOU’RE KILLIN ME SMALLS!) It’s important to know those facts (about the neighbor and the ball) because otherwise it just wouldn’t make sense.

My birthday was last week. A year older, a year wiser, they say.

Who’s they? It’s a general term to describe a group of people who are unspecified.

My birthday was last week and they didn’t acknowledge me. Not even the laziest and most passive aggressive version of all: the text. Nothing.

Who’s they? I don’t know - do you?

I’ve spent so much time trying to get them to talk to me, to love me, to acknowledge that my fucking mom died and I have no idea what I’m doing and I need support and love right now and what do you need and why do you hate me and tell me how to make this better and how could you not text me on my birthday and please don’t leave me and I miss you. I would love to sit down with them to say: “I’m sorry. I love you. Please forgive me. Thank you.”

Sounds a lot like Sandlot to me [shakes her own head as she writes: You’re Killin’ Me Smalls!] Those boys tried EVERYTHING to get their ball back! I’m trying everything to get them back! I’ve tried being nice. Being not-so-nice. I’ve tried being the straight up first born TCB’n it bitch. I’ve sent texts/emails. I’ve left voicemails. I’ve sent the cards and the holiday gifts. I wrote a Substack. Well, two counting this one.

If they are the Babe Ruth baseball, I’ve been trying EVERYTHING! Why can’t I just go to knock on the front door? Why am I making this so difficult? Because I heard some rumors and misinformation… and didn’t know any better than to believe that… without fact checking. I just spiraled around and around and around.

Ohhh hi Grief, I didn’t see you there.

Sandlot isn’t the first time kids in a town had a mythology around a local thing of interest/person that has no basis in fact, but handed down orally, kid to kid. Home Alone. Adventures In Babysitting. Mr. Mom. Great Outdoors. The Burbs. Willy Wonka. The Wizard of Oz. All favorites.

After no effort made on my birthday, something shifted in me. I felt as if I was stuck in a coal mine and got to see the first light after being stuck for so long. It’s bright. Almost too bright. I can barely see, but things are starting to come into focus. I grew up with so much love from them and they didn’t call or text or send a card this year. We all lost my mom but what about me caused them to not do even the bare minimum on my birthday, knowing I don’t have parents to celebrate with. After a lot of spinning in my head asking all the questions of what makes me not worthy to them, I had an overwhelming sense of calm.

Let them.

This wouldn't be the first time they had a mythology around me that has no basis in fact, but delivered time and time again over eye rolls and memes. Exaggerating this part here, downplaying that part there, completely omitting that important piece of information. Never fact checking. Their own version of spinning and spiraling.

There’s speculation that Sandlot was just a simple story of a baseball team that lost their ball over the neighbor’s fence. But the narrator (Smalls) over-exaggerates the story to include the autographed baseball and the killer dog. It’s a way better story.

Can we ask ourselves: Is this true? What are the facts? All the facts, not just one side. Not the picture you painted in your mind from the little information you have. Not a legend you heard. Not something you read in a magazine. No misinformation. We’re not making a movie where we need the killer dog and mean neighbor to MAKE the better story. We need the truth and facts to make a relationship work.

We need the truth and facts to make a relationship work.

I heard there’s a killer dog next door. Is this true? What are the facts?

I heard he stole his Dad’s autographed baseball out of the protective display case. Is this true? What are the facts?

I heard she went to a cult somewhere in California called Sad Camp. Is this true? What are the facts?

I heard she came to the hospital and talked to the surgeon. Is this true? What are the facts?

I heard she didn’t bring a gift on their wedding day. Is this true? What are the facts?

My truth: I would love nothing more than to talk to them. I’m open to a conversation. But there was a line drawn with that birthday shift in me: I am no longer going to allow them to consume me. I’m no longer stuck in that feeling of trying to reach out to them over and over and over again. I’m no longer interested in trying to get them back. Thank you to them for clearly showing me what they think of me - not even worthy of a text. Thank you to them for dismissing me and not considering me and ignoring me.

What got them to this point? I’m not sure what stories have been spinning and spinning and spinning about me. Because they heard some rumors and misinformation… and didn’t know any better than to believe that… without fact checking. And they never once asked: Is this true? What are the facts?

I am going to continue practicing asking myself those questions and releasing that need to spiral out of control over them. I’m not interested in what they’ve heard. I’m not interested in their opinions. I know better than to believe them. Until and unless we can sit down to talk. It’s important to know the facts because otherwise this story just doesn’t make sense.

A year older, a year wiser, they say. Is this true? Absolutely. What are the facts? I actually feel OK about the upcoming holiday season. I feel grateful for the kind of love and support coming from my family and friends. I release that hatred I’ve been holding onto so tightly for the way they’re treating me. I’m sorry for acting the only way I knew how to survive losing my mom. Thank you for understanding that I was doing the best I could, and yes I could have done many things better. But we’re here now. And I’m choosing happy and joy and love.

If you ever feel like getting your baseball back, you’re welcome to knock at my front door. Just don’t take forrrrr-eeeeeeeh-veeeeeeeeeer.

~Jen