Walsh Family Universe V2

It was late March of first grade when Dad brought it up at dinner.

"Coach Williams wants to move you up to the seven-to-nine-year-old league next season," Dad said, cutting his chicken. "Says you're too advanced for the six-and-under group."

"Really?" Ash felt a spike of excitement. The older league was more competitive, better players, actual kid-pitch instead of tee-ball.

"Really. But..." Dad exchanged a glance with Mom. "We need to have a conversation with him first. About your situation."

Ash's stomach dropped. "Do we have to?"

"He's going to be coaching you for years, probably. He should know." Dad's voice was firm but kind. "And honestly, it'll help him understand why you're so advanced. Why you can strategize like someone much older."

"Plus," Mom added, "if he's moving you up to play with older kids, the league needs to know your circumstances. For insurance purposes if nothing else."

So the following Saturday, after practice, Dad asked Coach Williams if they could have a word. The four of them—Mom, Dad, Ash, and Coach—went into the small office at the community center.

Coach Williams settled behind his desk, looking slightly concerned. "Everything okay? Noam's not in trouble, is he?"

"No, nothing like that," Dad said. "Actually, he's doing great. Best player in his age group by far. But there's something we need to tell you about why that is."

"Okay..." Coach Williams leaned back in his chair, curious.

Mom and Dad exchanged another glance. Dad took the lead.

"Noam is part of a state rehabilitation program. He was physically regressed from age twenty-four to age two about four years ago. So while he's physically six years old, he has adult consciousness and memories."

There was a beat of silence.

Coach Williams blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The Fresh Start Initiative," Dad clarified. "It's a program for young offenders. Instead of prison, they're physically regressed and given a second chance at childhood."

Coach Williams looked at Ash. Then at Dad. Then at Mom. Then back at Ash.

"You're messing with me."

"We're not," Mom said gently. "I know it sounds impossible, but the technology exists. Noam is six years old physically, but mentally he's twenty-eight."

Coach Williams laughed—that uncomfortable laugh people do when they think they're being pranked. "Okay, this is elaborate. Did Marcus put you up to this? Is there a hidden camera?"

"I'm serious," Dad said.

"Right. And I'm secretly a ninja." Coach Williams was still grinning, waiting for the punchline. "Come on, what's really going on? Did Noam get caught stealing equipment or something?"

Dad looked at Ash. "Show him."

Ash had been dreading this moment. But if it had to happen...

"Coach Williams," Ash said, dropping the childish speech patterns he usually maintained. "The reason I can read your defensive positioning and anticipate where ground balls are going is because I understand physics and trajectory at an adult level. When I adjust my batting stance, I'm calculating angle of impact and optimal swing plane. I'm not just a talented kid—I'm an adult in a kid's body who happens to be pretty good at sports."

Coach Williams's smile faltered. He stared at Ash.

"What... was that?"

"That was me talking like I actually am," Ash said. "The 'aw shucks, Coach' thing I usually do? That's performance. I'm twenty-eight. I was an artist before this. Never played baseball in my original life. But this body works well, and I have the cognitive advantage of understanding the mechanics behind everything we're doing."

Coach Williams looked at Dad. "He's... really?"

"Really."

"Holy shit." Coach Williams leaned forward, studying Ash with new eyes. "You're serious. This is real."

"It's real," Mom confirmed. "We don't usually tell people, but given that you're talking about moving him up, about him being exceptional... we thought you should know."

Coach Williams ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. Okay, wow. So when I've been teaching you—him—the fundamentals..."

"He's been humoring you," Dad said with a slight smile. "Though to be fair, he didn't know baseball before this, so the sport-specific stuff was new. The physical capability and strategic thinking were just... adult level."

"That's why you caught on so fast." Coach Williams was putting pieces together. "Why your baseball IQ is insane for a six-year-old. Why you can remember complex plays after seeing them once."

"Yeah."

"Jesus." Coach Williams sat back. "And you were... what did you say? Twenty-four when you were regressed?"

"Twenty-four. Would have been facing significant prison time for non-violent offenses. This was the alternative." Dad's voice was matter-of-fact. "We chose it for him. It was this or twenty years in prison."

"And he's aging normally?"

"Completely normal physical development," Mom said. "He'll grow up just like any other kid. Hit puberty, graduate high school, all of it. He'll be legally adult again at eighteen—physically eighteen, mentally forty."

Coach Williams looked at Ash again. "Can you... can you talk more? Like yourself?"

Ash shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Something adult. This is weird."

"It's very weird," Ash agreed. "From my perspective, I'm sitting in a community center office being interrogated by my baseball coach about my existential situation. I'm physically six, mentally twenty-eight, and I just want to move up to the older league because the six-year-olds can't field ground balls and it's getting boring."

Coach Williams let out a startled laugh. "Okay. Okay, yeah, that's definitely not a six-year-old talking." He shook his head in amazement. "This is the most insane thing I've ever heard."

"Welcome to our lives," Dad said dryly.

"So when you've been praising him for being such a good listener, such a smart player..."

"He's been internally rolling his eyes at the simplistic explanations," Mom said. "But he's polite about it."

"I try," Ash said.

Coach Williams laughed again, more genuinely this time. "Man. This explains so much. The way you position yourself before the ball is even hit. The strategic decisions that are way too advanced. I kept thinking you were some kind of prodigy."

"Technically he is," Dad said. "Just not the kind we thought."

"Can you—" Coach Williams looked fascinated now. "What else can you do? Like, can you do calculus or something?"

Ash nodded. "I mean, I learned calculus in high school the first time around, so yeah, I can do it. I have a college education. I can read at an adult level, understand complex concepts, have a fully developed prefrontal cortex making decisions."

"This is so weird."

"You're telling me," Ash said. "Try living it."

"So first grade..." Coach Williams was processing. "Must be torture."

"The academics are mind-numbing," Ash admitted. "Learning to read when I can already read Dostoyevsky. Doing single-digit addition when I understand algebra. The only good parts are recess, gym, and the fact that it gets me out of the house."

"But baseball..." Coach Williams looked thoughtful. "Baseball is actually challenging?"

"The physicality is. My body is legitimately six years old. I'm stronger and more coordinated than most kids because I understand how to use this body efficiently, but I still have the limitations of being small. I can't throw as far or hit as hard as an adult. So sports are actually one of the few things where the playing field is somewhat level."

"Huh." Coach Williams seemed to be re-evaluating everything. "And swimming?"

"Same thing. I understand the mechanics of swimming—how to optimize my stroke, when to breathe, how to pace myself. But my lung capacity and muscle mass are still those of a six-year-old. So I'm good, but not like... superhuman or anything."

"Just very, very advanced for your age."

"Right."

Coach Williams looked at Mom and Dad. "So what are you asking from me? Just to know, or...?"

"To know," Dad said. "And to understand that when you're coaching him, you can be more direct. More complex. He doesn't need the simplified explanations."

"And when I move him up to the older league, he'll still fit in socially?"

"That's harder," Mom admitted. "He's good at playing the part of a six-year-old, but with older kids, with more complex social dynamics... it might be more challenging."

"I'll be fine," Ash said. "I've been doing this for four years. I can handle nine-year-olds."

Coach Williams chuckled. "I bet you can." He stood up, came around the desk. "This is a lot to process. But you're a great kid. Great player. This doesn't change that."

"Thanks, Coach."

"Though I am going to have so many questions." Coach Williams grinned. "Like, what's it like hitting puberty twice? Are you dreading it?"

"So much," Ash said with feeling. "I remember how awful it was the first time. Having to do it again is genuinely one of my least favorite aspects of this situation."

"When's that happening?"

"I've got like five or six more years," Ash said. "Trying not to think about it."

Coach Williams laughed. "Fair enough. Okay, this is... wow. This is a lot. But yeah, about moving you up to the older league—" He looked at Mom and Dad. "Is that something you're comfortable with? I was thinking the seven-to-nine group."

Dad and Mom exchanged a glance.

"That's actually what we wanted to talk about," Dad said. "We appreciate that Noam is advanced athletically. But we need to be careful about moving him up too far, too fast. He needs to have a socially appropriate childhood."

"What do you mean?" Coach Williams asked.

"He's physically six," Mom explained. "Emotionally, developmentally—his body is six. Yes, he has adult consciousness, but he's still going through childhood. He needs friends his own age, experiences appropriate for his physical development."

"If we put him with nine-year-olds all the time, he'll miss out on the normal six-year-old experience," Dad added. "And when he's nine, we don't want him with twelve-year-olds. We want him growing up with his age cohort."

Coach Williams nodded slowly. "So you want to keep him in the six-and-under league?"

"Maybe the seven-to-eight group," Dad said. "One year up is fine. But not the seven-to-nine. That's pushing it too far."

"We're trying to give him as normal a childhood as we can," Mom said softly. "Despite the circumstances. That means age-appropriate friendships, age-appropriate activities. Not pushing him into older groups just because he's capable."

Coach Williams looked at Ash. "How do you feel about that?"

Ash shrugged. "I get it. I don't love playing with kids who can't field ground balls, but I also don't want to be the tiny six-year-old playing with nine-year-olds."

"Plus," Mom added, "we treat him age-appropriately at home too. He doesn't get to read adult books or watch adult movies or skip the normal childhood milestones just because he's mentally older. This is his chance to have a proper childhood—one he didn't really get the first time around."

"So we need you to treat him like a six-year-old too," Dad said. "Or a seven-year-old once he moves up. Not like an adult who happens to be small."

Coach Williams absorbed this. "So no complex explanations? No talking to him like I'd talk to an adult?"

"Right," Dad confirmed. "He needs to be coached like any other kid on the team. Patient explanations, encouragement, age-appropriate expectations. Just... now you'll understand why he picks things up so quickly."

"And why you shouldn't move him up more than one year at a time," Mom said. "We want him to grow up with kids his own age. That's important."

Coach Williams nodded. "I understand. That makes sense. So seven-to-eight league next year?"

"That would be perfect," Dad said.

"Alright." Coach Williams smiled. "Well, this was still the weirdest parent-coach conference I've ever had. But I appreciate you telling me. It helps me understand Noam better."

"Just remember," Mom said gently, "he's still a child. He needs to be treated like one."

"Got it," Coach Williams said. "Age-appropriate. Normal childhood. I can do that."

In the car on the way home, Ash asked, "So Coach is just going to keep treating me like a little kid?"

"Yes," Mom said firmly. "Because you are a little kid. Physically, socially, developmentally. The fact that you have adult memories doesn't change that you're six years old and need to grow up properly."

"I know," Ash said quietly.

"This is for your benefit," Dad added. "When you're eighteen again, you'll be glad you had actual friendships with kids your age. That you experienced childhood appropriately instead of being rushed through it."

Ash supposed that was true. Even if it meant staying in the "boring" league for another year.

That night, lying in bed, Ash thought about the conversation. About Mom and Dad insisting he have a normal childhood. About Coach understanding but still treating him like a six-year-old.

About puberty coming in five or six years—male puberty this time, the one he'd never experienced before.

That thought was equal parts terrifying and exciting. Terrifying because puberty was awful the first time, and doing it again sounded like torture. But also... this would be the right puberty. The one his body was supposed to go through. Male puberty, in a male body, finally experiencing what he was meant to experience.

He tried not to think about it too much.

Five thousand and ninety-six days to go.

But now Coach Williams knew the truth—even if nothing would actually change.

At least someone else understood.

That was something.

Even if it wasn't quite the freedom he'd hoped for.