He flutters out in the field, a lithe body, moving to his own music. "Hey G," the coach yells, "No dancing in the outfield!" He straightens up for a moment, a perfect baseball figure in the grass. But a few moments later he is two-stepping again when the ball sails up his way. The parents in the stands all hold their breath as they watch it arc to him. He pokes his glove up in a perfectly choreographed move and pulls down the ball. We all laugh with relief and surprise, me most of all. And pride is there too. It's his way and there is no other.