Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it’s that time of year. Summer? Baseball season? Well, yes, “Go Phillies,” but the season I am talking about is Wiffle ball season. Anyone can play at any age, come one, come all.

Growing up, my four siblings and I used to play Wiffle ball in our back yard with my dad. He would walk in the door in his suit and tie and shout, “Changing.” Then he would go upstairs and change into his tan khakis, white T-shirt and Converse sneakers and out we would go.

We used orange cones for bases, no gloves needed. Our three-legged beagle Olive would run the bases with us.

My dad offered different pitches. Sometimes if you had two strikes, he would say, “OK, I’ll give you a chance.