This
evening my son wore his jester hat to the teeball game. From the moment he arrived he was a little
clown. Part of that might have had something
to do with the fact that he tends to be a big flirt and there is only one girl
on the team and six boys. The sillier he
acted, the more the girl laughed and the more she laughed the more ridiculous
he became. It was cute to watch, when it
wasn’t frustrating. During warm-ups –
the two of them having been the first two to arrive – he was completely incapable
of paying attention to me and the ball I was throwing to him. Each time I threw the ball to the girl, he
lunged after it, she tripped over him or the grass or her own feet and the both
of them would lie in a heap laughing as if it was the most hilarious thing
either of them had ever done. And when I
threw the ball to my son, it invariably bounced passed him because he was too
occupied making faces at the girl. The
girl, by the way, is two years older than him and at least four inches – if not
more – taller.
The
flirting continued when the game started, and in the second inning I made the
huge mistake of putting my son at the left wing position while letting the girl
play on the pitcher’s mound. Of course,
keeping them completely separated would have been a challenge considering only
five kids showed up. But letting them
stand less than ten feet apart was not an intelligent move on my part. Instead of keeping his eye on the batter, he
kept his eye on the girl, doing whatever it took – digging in the dirt,
dancing, making faces - to get her to laugh.
After several batters, I could take it no longer. I walked up to my son and explained that if
he didn’t keep his eyes on the batter I’d have to move him to the outfield –
and no one ever plays the outfield since no one hits that hard – where he could
stand next to me. Following my reprimand,
his concentration improved, however, his eyes did steal an occasional glance
toward the pitcher’s mound.
My son did
not see too much action in the field tonight, but he did have a few plays. He is getting much better at throwing the
ball once he claims possession of it, but we do have to work on his strength
and accuracy which will hopefully develop over time. Every time he makes a play, as soon as the
ball lands, either in the dirt or grass (rarely near the first baseman) my son
turns to me smiling, waiting for my praise which I am always quick to bestow
upon him. And once I say nice play, give
him a thumbs up or a high five he always beams, pleased that he has done
something well. Of all my players – and I
admit he is my son so I may be overly partial – he has the cutest, and perhaps
best, ready stance. When he’s not busy
trying to catch the girl’s attention, he bends his knees properly and gets his
glove on the ground ready to make a play.
It really is precious to see.
In the
final inning he was playing second base where very little ever happens. Giving up on anything ever getting hit to
him, he turned his attention to the gnats that once again had invaded the
field. Holding his finger out, a perfect
perch for an insect, he was extremely excited when a gnat landed. He was so excited that he had to run off the
field to show both of his parents and I could not persuade him to return to the
game until the gnat had been properly scrutinized.
Base
running - always my favorite part of the game - is the thing that seems to trip
my son up the most. In the second
inning, he stopped dead in his tracks on the way to first and squatted down to
pick clump of the chalk they use to line the field. Holding it in his fingers – while I was
screaming at him to run to first - he studied it intently as if it might have
been a nugget of gold. He ignored my
pleas to run and only tossed the chalk aside when he lost interest. By then, the first baseman had already chased
down a throw and lobbed it in to me so I could put it back on the tee. When my
son finally made it to second, he took off his helmet, and when the batter hit
the ball, he didn’t run right away because he was too busy examining the inside
of his helmet. At that point, I’d have
loved to have examined the inside of his head – ugh.
By far, the
cutest moment of the game occurred when the final batter of the other team hit
the ball. Once my son realized he had no
chance of making the play – the ball had been hit to the opposite side of the
field - he threw off his glove, sprinted off the field (seriously, where is
that speed when he is running the bases), stood next to the third base line - somewhere
between third and home - and held out his hand to cheer on and give a high five
to the opposing players as they ran home.
Two kids slapped his hand but the third kid completely ignored his gesture
which totally devastated him. He couldn’t
understand why his enthusiasm and sportsmanship had not been returned.
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