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Batter up, Kids and Baseball
One Mom's Little League Experience
By Emily Mendell
Baseball is no longer fun for me. I wonder, is it fun for him?
In my little folding chair, set up with all the other parents along the first base line, I listen to the voices in my head. The coaches are very good and fair. Please spend a little extra time with my kid. The kids are nice. Please don't say anything mean to my boy when he misses the fly ball. It's a sunny day. Please let a spontaneous storm come along so this can all be over.
But the game goes on. It's Noah's turn to bat. Swing. Strike One. Swing. Strike Two.
Wait for your pitch, Noah!
The pitcher winds up and delivers a ball that Noah must have thought was too inside. He cringes and the ball serendipitously hits the bat and dribbles about five feet in front of home plate. Noah stares after it.
RUN!
He does, taking advantage of the fielders who don't quite know what to do with the accidental bunt. A single! His grin is as wide as ever. A high five from Coach. Noah does a little dance. I cheer, quickly swallowing the vomit that had risen during the last 10 seconds of play. Thumbs up, love!
The inning ends and he cheerfully trots out to the field. This is fun for him. He has so much spirit and I realize what this particular baseball season is about. It all makes perfect sense. The invisible hand at work. At some point in life you are rewarded in places where you have talent. Each individual finds his or her own game. I think we all know that baseball is not going to be Noah's destination, but he is having fun with the journey, despite my misguided instincts to protect him from it.
As for my heart? I'm happy to report that it has left my throat and is now out in center field, with his glove guarding his face. He is every bit a Minor Leaguer. But his mother will always be a rookie.