Last June, all my boy wanted was to play one real baseball game with other kids. He settled for batting with a paper towel roll in the hallway and playing catch with Dad on any strip of socially distanced surface they could find. This June, he not only played real baseball with a real team but made it all the way to the championship where they suffered a heartbreaking loss (one of only two all season).
It’s always more fun to win but I’m so impressed by how this little boy who only thinks about baseball all day every day has handled himself. In a culture where boys and men are taught emotions are weak and understanding them is pointless, this boy wasn’t ashamed to cry or hug his teammates, and talk about how it felt, “a pain in my chest like a knife poking me from inside.”
His coaches loved having such a skilled catcher, but more than that loved his wonderful, open personality. He was prone to adding a button on the coaches talks, saying things like, “small actions have big consequences” and at the end of their huddle yesterday, he said, “I love baseball more than anything but the the best part of this was making friends.”
We got home from the game and he went straight to the backyard to throw the ball around some more.
It hurts so much to see our kids hurting, over big things and small. We have had more than a few of those around here lately, but I feel awed by the privilege of walking alongside them through it all.
Life is so fun and hurts so much and (thank you Kimmy Schmidt) 🎵 we alive, dammit! 🎵
