It's quite the simple thing, the baseball.
A simple fabricated orb of leather and stitching wound into a sphere.
Pehaps it's not so simple.
He tosses the ball up, and down, lying the grass outside his house. It's a house, he decides, home no longer describes it. The baseball isn't his, it's his father's. He gave it to him for a birthday, for a celebrated year he couldn't recall, because he knew virtually nothing of the man who insisted upon the word, 'Dad'. Every guy likes baseball, right? That was his thought process, chossing a gift. This "Father" of his didn't have a strong point of sharing his interests. Why not something generic, and simple, like a baseball?
So he bought the ball, in a nice enclosed see-through box, to preserve such an artifact. His Father had ruffled his hair and uttered, 'Thanks, Sport!' and gave him a good old five star on the back. His Father seldom loked at the baseball, let alone used it. Goten had taken a shot in the dark, and missed.
He sighs.
The simple toss of the ball, up and down, defying gravity and gravity reenforcing itself upon the ball, over and over again. Sometimes he forgets he tossed it, and it hits him square in the chest.
'Ow..' he mutters after the accident repeats itself.
He's absolutely lost in thought, he can feel the thoughts crowing and flooding his mind. Meeting that man that left six months before he was scheduled to be born was a thought that came to mind.
Meeting that hero he'd always heard of.
Meeting an angel.
His brother, Gohan, told him their father was an angel. Sent from Heaven to watch them. Goten didn't believe him. His Mother constantly wept about this 'angel' at night.
At gatherings and get-togethers, he'd hear the same stories, as if on a loop. He'd hear praise and compliments of how much he resembled his father. He'd mumble a 'thanks' and stalk off to the corner of the room and hang his head in confusion. He'd prayed for sleep, but it refused to greet him. No one noticed his leaving of the story-telling circle.
The baseball hits his chin this time.
He recalls the first moment he met his Father. He'd ran up to greet this man, this stranger, and hugged him, all because it was expected.
'Ouch..' he rubs his forehead. His attention to this game is slipping.
And what about the day "Dad" left? Two hours of playing and bonding, only to be crushed with a 'See ya Sport! We can play later!' and the hailing of a cab.
Goten had sworn to never play with that man again.
Playing baseball with his Father wasn't his kind of fun, anyway.
He stands up, and throws the ball as far as the wind and force of his throw will carry it, then sits and lays back in the grass.
'No more distractions...' he thinks to himself, as sleep finally rushes to greet him.