My boy just learned he made the baseball team at his school, and I am so proud of him.
This is something he's done all on his own without any help from me at all.
I wish I could say I had groomed him, but every kid I went to school with from elementary through college would know I was lying. On the last day of tryouts, I stood around with a group of baseball dads--a group I approach with fear and trepidation. They talked about pitching practice for their boys and batting practice in the off season. They talked about the dangers of throwing in cold weather and growth spurts. Later on, they'll be talking about RBIs, ERAs and a host of other three-letter symbols that I need a dictionary to decipher.
When the subject of growth spurts popped up briefly, like a fly-ball to the infield, I was ready, but I let the ball fall to the ground, out of fear that we'd get into on of those my-kid's-bigger-than-your-kid contests. I didn't want to go there, but between you and me...my kid is bigger. He's grown over half a foot since summer, and his shoe size is now an 11. He's taller than me, almost matches my weight (wish I could say he outweighed me, but that's my fault not his) and his shoe is bigger than mine.
Sorry, got carried away. So, these dads are talking about tryouts, and one dad asks me if I saw my boy's last time at bat. "He hit one over the fence," he said. I knew he was kidding, but I played along. "Well, you know, he gets his athletic ability from his dad," I replied. What's that old joke? When God was giving out athletic skills, I thought he said bills, and I said, "No thanks. I don't want any of those."
Truth is, I bought my first baseball glove about a year ago. The boy wanted me to toss the ball with him in the backyard, and his tosses were getting too hard for me to handle bare-handed. I was at a complete loss. What size did I need? Did I need a catcher's mitt, a first-baseman's glove or some other kind of glove? Until I started shopping for one, I didn't know there was an option. Shoot, I still couldn't tell you what kind of glove I have.
When I got the glove home, I realized I had to break it in. We had done this with the boy's glove before, so I wasn't completely in the dark. There are plenty of web resources when you Google "How to break in a baseball glove." I didn't wrap it up with a ball and park my car on it. Guess that could work, but that seemed a little extreme. I chose the oven-baking method, with a special cream we bought at the store. It looked kind of like the meringue my mama used to put on the banana pudding. It softened the letter pretty well.
So, now, we're preparing for baseball season. I love it. I really do. I love the look in his eyes. I love the sound of the baseball hitting the pocket of his glove. I look forward to those warm spring days of sitting outside in the afternoon sun, watching the team work as a team. First, however, there is the preparation. This year, preparation meant a trip to the store. Like I said, the boy has grown--a lot. First, we needed size 11 cleats. Then, we needed adult-size baseball pants. We also had to buy a new glove, the old one didn't even cover his palm any more. Next up is uniforms, I suspect, and whatever else the coach says we need.
What I really like, though, are the lessons that the boy and I are learning. Already he's learned that school teams are different than the community leagues he's played with in the past. And, in the coming weeks, he's going to learn a lot more. I love the note that his coaches sent home with the players. It said the boys were picked for either their attitude, their hustle or their God-given talent. It said that they would win as a team and lose as a team. It said there is an expectation of committment and practice, and that this is part of a process designed to result in a pay off years from now on the varsity level.
I'm glad my boy has some athletic ability, but more importantly, I'm glad that he's going to be learning some important lessons. You see, there are lessons inherent in team sports that those of us who didn't play them never really learned. You learn to take responsibility for your territory--whether that's the batter's box, first base or right-field. You learn to help cover your teammate's back on the field. You learn to hustle, to encourage your teammates, to put aside your differences for the benefit of the team (the greater good) and that while one player may be gifted in a certain area, he's got to have a functioning team playing with him to really be in the game.
I'm proud, because my boy is getting in the game. How many of us are content to be spectators? We have opinions about everything, and we're not afraid to spout them, but we take no responsibility. I want my boy to responsible, and I want him to understand that, as his coaches said in their letter, that this opportunity is about his attitude, his hustle and his God-given talent. If every one of us recognized that it's all three of those that turn us from specators to players, we'd be a lot better off.
The Bible says to do everything you do as if you were doing it for the Lord. Everything includes baseball. This is a chance to put that notion into play.
This is something he's done all on his own without any help from me at all.
I wish I could say I had groomed him, but every kid I went to school with from elementary through college would know I was lying. On the last day of tryouts, I stood around with a group of baseball dads--a group I approach with fear and trepidation. They talked about pitching practice for their boys and batting practice in the off season. They talked about the dangers of throwing in cold weather and growth spurts. Later on, they'll be talking about RBIs, ERAs and a host of other three-letter symbols that I need a dictionary to decipher.
When the subject of growth spurts popped up briefly, like a fly-ball to the infield, I was ready, but I let the ball fall to the ground, out of fear that we'd get into on of those my-kid's-bigger-than-your-kid contests. I didn't want to go there, but between you and me...my kid is bigger. He's grown over half a foot since summer, and his shoe size is now an 11. He's taller than me, almost matches my weight (wish I could say he outweighed me, but that's my fault not his) and his shoe is bigger than mine.
Sorry, got carried away. So, these dads are talking about tryouts, and one dad asks me if I saw my boy's last time at bat. "He hit one over the fence," he said. I knew he was kidding, but I played along. "Well, you know, he gets his athletic ability from his dad," I replied. What's that old joke? When God was giving out athletic skills, I thought he said bills, and I said, "No thanks. I don't want any of those."
Truth is, I bought my first baseball glove about a year ago. The boy wanted me to toss the ball with him in the backyard, and his tosses were getting too hard for me to handle bare-handed. I was at a complete loss. What size did I need? Did I need a catcher's mitt, a first-baseman's glove or some other kind of glove? Until I started shopping for one, I didn't know there was an option. Shoot, I still couldn't tell you what kind of glove I have.
When I got the glove home, I realized I had to break it in. We had done this with the boy's glove before, so I wasn't completely in the dark. There are plenty of web resources when you Google "How to break in a baseball glove." I didn't wrap it up with a ball and park my car on it. Guess that could work, but that seemed a little extreme. I chose the oven-baking method, with a special cream we bought at the store. It looked kind of like the meringue my mama used to put on the banana pudding. It softened the letter pretty well.
So, now, we're preparing for baseball season. I love it. I really do. I love the look in his eyes. I love the sound of the baseball hitting the pocket of his glove. I look forward to those warm spring days of sitting outside in the afternoon sun, watching the team work as a team. First, however, there is the preparation. This year, preparation meant a trip to the store. Like I said, the boy has grown--a lot. First, we needed size 11 cleats. Then, we needed adult-size baseball pants. We also had to buy a new glove, the old one didn't even cover his palm any more. Next up is uniforms, I suspect, and whatever else the coach says we need.
What I really like, though, are the lessons that the boy and I are learning. Already he's learned that school teams are different than the community leagues he's played with in the past. And, in the coming weeks, he's going to learn a lot more. I love the note that his coaches sent home with the players. It said the boys were picked for either their attitude, their hustle or their God-given talent. It said that they would win as a team and lose as a team. It said there is an expectation of committment and practice, and that this is part of a process designed to result in a pay off years from now on the varsity level.
I'm glad my boy has some athletic ability, but more importantly, I'm glad that he's going to be learning some important lessons. You see, there are lessons inherent in team sports that those of us who didn't play them never really learned. You learn to take responsibility for your territory--whether that's the batter's box, first base or right-field. You learn to help cover your teammate's back on the field. You learn to hustle, to encourage your teammates, to put aside your differences for the benefit of the team (the greater good) and that while one player may be gifted in a certain area, he's got to have a functioning team playing with him to really be in the game.
I'm proud, because my boy is getting in the game. How many of us are content to be spectators? We have opinions about everything, and we're not afraid to spout them, but we take no responsibility. I want my boy to responsible, and I want him to understand that, as his coaches said in their letter, that this opportunity is about his attitude, his hustle and his God-given talent. If every one of us recognized that it's all three of those that turn us from specators to players, we'd be a lot better off.
The Bible says to do everything you do as if you were doing it for the Lord. Everything includes baseball. This is a chance to put that notion into play.
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