It is something. Watching your child work so hard. Seeing him put the time in. Seeing him be picked as the best of the best.
We have spent the last 15 out of 18 days at the ball park for little league. This is on top of already completing the season. This was All Stars. The majors of little league. The show.
I watched prideful fathers prepare the fields, paint the fences, and work hard with their boys. Hour after hour. The boys working hard, running, fielding, pitching, hitting, batting cages, no swimming on game days, hydrating starting 4 hours prior to a game, etc. etc.
Until the big day. The moment of truth.
Game 1 – Victory! Our team played beautifully. Everyone on the team moved like a well oiled machine. Fielding, hitting, you name it, they nailed it. My boy hit great and caught the game winning catch. It was amazing. I have never been so proud. I have also never jumped up and shouted. Literally, I jumped up and shouted.
I made a itty bitty spectacle of myself, and didn’t care one bit. That’s MY Boy.
Game 2 – Well…….. Not the best game. 9am 4th of July. They seemed tired. I think perhaps they over trained until, well, just over it. We have been at the ball park FOREVER.
And whomever gets the above, gets this post.
We lost game 2. Double elimination, we are still in the game. There is still a chance they can win the division and go down state to play for the grand title. State Champions.
My boy is starting off pitcher. It doesn’t go well. 8 runs given up by the 2nd inning. He is starting to cry. It hurts my heart so badly, but a part of me knows this type of situation, this disappointment, is good for kids. As much as it rips apart my heart to see him hold back tears, to see the frustration. I know that he is building a set of standards for himself that include hard work, perseverance, and the desire to do well. He wants something, and it isn’t happening.
Such is life. Hard lessons are hard learned.
Oddly, everyone including the kids seemed relived.
This is something that my son and his father do together. We, me and his father, haven’t been together for many many years. But this is their thing.
Every single one of those kids looked relieved. Happy that there were no more two hour practices. Happy they didn’t see their buddy throw up doritos after a 30 minute run after an hour practice. Happy their summer can TRULY begin.
They are 11.
I understand preparation, pride, and wanting to win. Working hard for what you feel your kids deserve.
But I also think, sometimes it is a bit much for kids their age.
But, alas, he wants to do it, and I am thrilled he and his father have this time.
I don’t have anything like this with him. They have this and no one can take it away.
All I can do is be there, encourage, and take a million pictures.
Give him a big smile, and hugs.
And shoo the gnats from my toes.
At the end of the day, when all is said and done…
All you can do is, Play Ball.
Woman on Pause.