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My Backyard Is for Baseball
Growing More Than Flowers
By Karna Converse
Just as important, the backyard is also for me, a place where I can weigh a child's growing independence against a mother's reluctance to let her babies grow up. I no longer have to answer a barrage of questions that begin with "why" or check that zippers are zipped and shoelaces are tied. I do, however, need answers for such issues as: When can they walk to a friend's house by themselves? When can they spend the night? How much spending money do they need? Do they really need to wear their bicycle helmets? How much do I help with homework? When do I intervene in the roughhousing, and when do I let it go?
In other words, the backyard is a place where I can master my timing. It's where I can watch them inch off first base and then decide whether to let them steal to second base or call them out.
I know the time is coming when my boys will no longer need me to pitch and play catch with them. Soon, the birch tree will no longer be needed for third base, and my garage windows will be safe from wild pitches. But until that day, I'll don my baseball glove and head to the backyard for a lively game of pop flies and grounders. And I'll pray that the support, encouragement and safe place my backyard has provided so far will continue, even when my backyard is filled with azaleas, daisies and roses.