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My Backyard Is for Baseball
Growing More Than Flowers
By Karna Converse
Every spring, when the seed catalogs arrive, I tell myself that this year is going to be different: This year, my backyard will be filled with azaleas, daises and roses, overflowing in a rainbow of colors like my neighbors. This year, it'll exude serenity and whisper, "Welcome. Sit and rest a spell."
I let myself dream for a few minutes and then lay the catalogs aside. Instead of peace and tranquility, I know my backyard will sweat pandemonium and shout, "Play Ball!" – just as it has for the past several years. Baseballs will whiz dangerously close to the garage windows. My flowerbed will be trampled in the quest to snag a pop fly. Four paths will be worn in the grass to mark the route around the bases, and the birch tree (third base) will be stripped of its bark at about the three-foot mark.
When my boys first began playing with balls, they had to learn how to catch: open hands, grasp ball, close hands. They had to determine how far apart to hold their hands and when to bring them together so the ball landed in their hands at just the right moment. If they closed their hands too soon or kept their hands open too long, the ball hit them on the chest and bounced to the ground.
When they began playing baseball, they had to learn how to swing a bat. Their stance had to be just right. The swing had to be straight, and it had to connect with the ball at just the right moment. If they swung too soon or waited too long, they heard, "Strike!" "Foul ball!" or "You're Out!" But when they timed the swing correctly, they heard: "Good hit!" or "Home Run!" They learned quickly that timing was a big part of whether or not they were successful at pitching, hitting and running to home plate.