A long pitch home

Natalie Dias Lorenzi

Book - 2016

When Bilal's family suddenly moves to America, his father stays in Pakistan, and Bilal embraces baseball, an unexpected friend, and a new language. But this new way of life does not feel so special without Baba--will he ever get to America to see Bilal pitch a game?

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Review by Booklist Review

When 10-year-old Bilal moves from Pakistan to Virginia, it's not just his favorite sport cricket that he misses but also his much beloved father, who had to temporarily stay behind. His older cousin suggests Bilal join the baseball team in order to make new friends and learn English, but baseball isn't anything like cricket! To make matters worse, there's a girl on the team who's better than everyone, drawing the team's wrath, but Bilal actually likes her. How can he adjust to a new sport, a new language, and a new culture while waiting for his dad to join the family? This sensitive middle-grade novel is an excellent introduction to cricket, culture shock, and what life may be like for some recent immigrants. Bilal's diverse friends are somewhat refreshingly more concerned with the fact that there's a girl on their team than his heritage. Although the ending is predictable, for fans of Firoozeh Dumas' It Ain't So Awful, Falafel (2016) and readers looking for a sports book with heart, this will be a home run.--Linsenmeyer, Erin Copyright 2016 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Bilal's world is turned upside town when his father disappears for three days from their home in Karachi, Pakistan. After his father returns just as unexpectedly, Bilal, his mother, and his two sisters leave almost immediately for America to live with his uncle's family. Bilal slowly learns that his father has been accused of a crime he didn't commit and must clear his name before he can join them. Although Bilal's extended family in Virginia is welcoming, the 10-year-old longs for his father and life back home. Lorenzi (Flying the Dragon) uses Bilal's candid first-person perspective to bring readers into his struggles, including trading his favorite sport-cricket-for baseball. It's through baseball that Bilal befriends Jordan, a girl who also misses her father, a soldier in Afghanistan. Filled with details about Pakistani and Muslim life (Bilal is shocked by the swimming attire at the local pool: "Aren't the adults embarrassed to be half-naked in front of everyone?"), Lorenzi's novel offers a sensitive look at the cultural merging that accompanies immigration. Ages 9-12. Agent: Erin Murphy, Erin Murphy Literary. (Sept.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 3-6-Bilal's 10th birthday doesn't go as he planned: after his father encounters some trouble at work, Bilal, his siblings, and his mother get visas to live with their family in Virginia while Bilal's father stays on in Pakistan for the time being. Immediately upon arriving in America, Bilal notices that some things are the same-familiar Pakistani foods and Muslim customs-yet other things are startlingly different. The English Bilal learned in Karachi seems different from the language spoken by everyone around him. Bilal, an excellent cricket player, is dismayed to learn that Americans play baseball. He begins to make friends during summer baseball camp, yet not everything works out well. Bilal doesn't quite understand why his teammates are so mad that a girl has made their team, he is embarrassed by his baseball abilities and need for ESL classes at school, and he misses Pakistan and, above all, his father. Lorenzi weaves a coherent narrative that includes many issues a new immigrant, as well as any fifth grader, might encounter. The author avoids stereotypes and inspires empathy for Bilal; it is clear Lorenzi has infused this tale with what she's learned as an ESL specialist and also done her research to ensure an accurate portrayal of the life of a young Pakistani immigrant. VERDICT Add this title to your shelves, and pitch it to kids who like sports stories and moving realistic novels.-Amy Koester, Learning Experiences Department, Skokie Public Library, IL © Copyright 2016. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Horn Book Review

Ten-year-old Bilal struggles to fit in after he immigrates from Pakistan to Virginia. Bilal also longs for his father--trapped in Pakistan by a legal dilemma--to join them. Writing in the first person, Lorenzi empathetically conveys Bilal's confusions over language, the dissimilarities between cricket and baseball, and the misogyny of his teammates toward their only girl teammate. (c) Copyright 2017. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

They took my father three days ago, a week before my tenth birthday.             No one knows where he is. Or if they do know, they are not telling me.             Daddo has her own theories. "They took my son because he is the best engineer in all of Karachi--no, in all of Pakistan."             "Who are they ?" I ask.             My grandmother frowns as she strips the mango skin from its flesh. I actually feel sorry for the mango.             She does not answer my question, so I keep talking.             "But Daddo, there are a thousand engineers in Karachi. Why couldn't they--whoever they are--get their own engineer instead of taking Baba?"             "Bah." Daddo scoops up the mango peels and dumps them in the trash. "You are still too young to understand these things, Bilal."             "Almost-ten-year-olds are not too young to understand these things."             I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction. I am not supposed to be disrespectful during the month of Ramadan. Or any of the other months, either.             But Daddo doesn't look mad. She just shakes her head and says, "One day you will understand."             Here is what I understand.             Four days ago I was planning my birthday party with my mother. Ammi called the Pie in the Sky bakery over by Zamzama Park and ordered my favorite cake--chocolate malt with fudge frosting.             The next day my father never came home from work.             I understand nothing.             Ammi has not cooked a thing since my father disappeared. Daddo cooks double of everything to feed the relatives who stream into our apartment every day, waiting for news about my father.             Usually my family is loud, and we talk all at once except when we're laughing. But whoever took my father took our laughter, too. The grown-ups smile whenever I come into the room with my little sister, Hira, who hasn't let me out of her sight since our father disappeared. They clap whenever Humza, my baby brother, toddles over and calls out a nonsense word. But I can see in their eyes that they are scared. Their fear sits on my chest like an elephant.             The adults gather in the living room, where the curtains are drawn against the late-afternoon sun. They stop whispering when I come around the corner, so I catch only snippets of their conversations.             "He should have transferred out of that office."             "How many times did I tell him not to push the issue?"             "I've never trusted Tahir."             I understand none of it, especially the part about Tahir, the father of my very best friend. He and Baba work together. They have been friends since they were boys, just like Mudassar and me.             When the sun sinks into the sea and the azaan sounds from the minarets of the Mubarak Mosque, our prayers do not feel joyful. I kneel on my janamaz , touching my forehead to the prayer mat. But when I recite the traditional words, I am really asking Allah to bring Baba home. When it is time to break the fast, no one rushes to the table; they shuffle and murmur and sigh. Daddo brings out the steaming bowls of qorma , and the smell of chicken and curry makes my stomach rumble. I feel guilty for being hungry, because who knows if those people who took Baba are letting him eat. Daddo must hear my rumbling belly, because she leans over as she passes the plate of dates and whispers, "Eat, Bilal jaan . Worrying is hungry work."             We mumble an unenthusiastic Bismillah in thanks for our food. Maybe Allah heard our prayer, because next we hear the knock at the door. Everyone freezes except for Humza, who stuffs his mouth with fat fistfuls of mushy rice and peas.             Nobody moves because that first knock is just a regular one. But then it comes, Baba's special knock: two fast raps-- pause--another quick knock like a hiccup, followed by two solid thunks.             We burst from our chairs in a blur of movement, our voices exploding with hope and disbelief. Someone's water glass clanks over and my chair crashes to the floor, but I do not look back. My legs race down the hall until my palms slam against the front door.             My fingers work the locks as fast as dragonfly wings, and then--click!--the last of the locks is free. I pull the door open, and there stands Baba. His suit is wrinkled and his shirt is torn near the pocket, and he must have lost his glasses somewhere along the way. But it's him, all right, and he is home.             "Baba!" I yell. My father smiles and steps inside, then falls to his knees and opens his arms. Hira and I just about knock him over. His cheek has the beginnings of a beard that prickles my own cheek, but I keep my arms tight around him. Everyone surrounds my father, crying and laughing and asking him where he's been. He only shakes his head and takes turns holding us close.             Baba doesn't speak about those three days he was missing from our lives. But two days after his surprise homecoming, he says this: "Bilal, it is high time we leave Pakistan to live with your Hassan Uncle and Noor Auntie in America."             America? That's on the other side of the world.             Ammi, my siblings, and I will leave in a few days, and Baba will come later. In the meantime, Baba says we can tell no one we are leaving, not even Mudassar. Especially not Mudassar. If Baba and Tahir are no longer friends, does that mean I have lost my best friend, too? Excerpted from A Long Pitch Home by Natalie Dias Lorenzi All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.