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PITTSBURGH — <\/span>I’m no pitcher. But the first time I made my father flinch with my fastball, I felt as if I had grown up that day. My hand was finally big enough to affect the ball’s trajectory and make his sting.<\/p>\n It was 1978. I was 10. \u201cI don’t know how much longer I can catch these,\u201d said my already aging parent, who would deny two decades later that he ever said anything of the sort until I was at LEAST 14. <\/p>\n How many children have held an American baseball since it sort of coalesced into being in the latter half of the 19th century? How many have felt those nubby stitches underneath their fingers while their palms cupped the smooth white leather? How many have swung a tiny bat \u2014 wooden, then aluminum, now graphite \u2014 and connected with a softer, younger kids’ baseball, a \u201cT-ball,\u201d and felt that unique thrill of kinetic energy and possibility? <\/p>\n Baseball is, in the end, all about the ball. In the pantheon of the national pastime, bat and glove \u2014 as crucial as they are \u2014 are but the supporting cast. The ball remains forever at the center. Spinning, bobbing, weaving. Pulverized, soaring, gone. <\/p>\n The baseball itself is a curious object. One killed a man once, Ray Chapman, in 1920. These days dozens are used in a single big-league game.<\/p>\n There, it emerges pristine onto a field from an umpire’s waist pouch. From there, it is held meticulously and lovingly and gingerly by one player, who arranges fingers just so and treats the leather sphere like a firstborn for a few seconds. Then it is delivered to another player, an opponent with a large stick who tries mightily to smack the bejeezus out of it. You gotta feel for that little ball.<\/p>\n When I moved overseas in 1979, I met an elderly man who had once interviewed Ted Williams, one of the game’s greatest hitters. He \u2014 the man, not Williams \u2014 knew I was feeling homesick for baseball in particular. When I produced my ball and glove, he said something to the effect of: \u201cAs long as you have a baseball, you’re home.\u201d<\/p>\n I still pack one most everywhere I go. For me, it is America encapsulated \u2014 burning a hole in my glove or my jacket pocket, biding its time, ready for the next big game \u2026 of catch.<\/p>\n ___<\/p>\n Ted Anthony has written about American culture for The Associated Press since 1992. This story is part of a recurring series, \u201cAmerican Objects,\u201d marking the 250 anniversary of the United States. <\/p>\n<\/div>\n