When the
rain started to come down rather heavily this evening, my spouse was convinced
the teeball game was going to get rained out.
However, the rain that beat down on our windows and washed away all of
my son’s sidewalk chalk art did not fall over the field that was only about ten
miles north of us. When we arrived at
the field we were surprised to find everything dry – dry but extremely
buggy. Gnats invaded the field and
harassed players, coaches and spectators.
At the start of the second inning, one of my players asked if he could
play a position different than he had played in the first inning. “Sure,” I readily agreed. “Where would you like to play?” I asked,
happy to put him wherever he wanted to go.
“I’d like to play somewhere that has no bugs,” he requested, his eyes shining
with seriousness, his smile innocent.
But the bugs were everywhere. There
was no escaping them except in the car and if he wanted to play, the car was
not an option. So we all endured,
swatting at the gnats while glancing at the sky to see if the dark clouds had
caught up to us. The weather forecast
predicted storms around the starting time of the game, but I’m sure none of you
will be surprised to know that the forecast was incorrect.
My players
have all improved over the course of the season. None of them can catch a ball on a fly and
most of them can’t throw very far, but they at least have a better sense of
what they should be doing and how they should be doing it. My son still loves to play first base even
though he is yet to catch anything that is thrown to him. One of these days, however, I suspect he will
surprise me and when I least expect him to make a play, the ball will find its
way into his glove. In the second
inning, I put him at short stop – my favorite position from back in the day
when I used to play – but he strongly rebelled against the position. He was not happy to be buried way in the back
and to protest he intentionally turned his body towards third base, instead of
home, when crouching down in the ready position. Several times I told him to turn, twice I
even repositioned his body for him, but my son is stubborn and if he objects to
a specific set of directions he refuses to follow them. While at short, one ball was hit directly to
him. I called his name and told him it
was his play. He quickly pulled himself
out of his snit and ran after the ball.
One of the older boys (the one who in previous games tends to barrel
over the little ones because he is bigger and faster) ignored me and he charged
across the field racing my son to the ball.
My son got to the ball first, but the other boy fell to his knees and
wrestled the ball out of my son’s hand and threw it to first base. My son, annoyed and frustrated that the play
had been stolen from him, took off his glove and threw it at his teammate. Part of me couldn’t exactly blame him, he
knew the play had been stolen from him and he wanted the other boy to know that
he was angry and hurt. In the final inning, my son played on the pitcher’s
mound – his second favorite position - and while in that position he did have
the opportunity to make one play. He
still needs to work on his throwing and develop his arm muscles. Maybe if he gains a bit of strength and
improves his form he won’t feel compelled to run three quarters of the distance
to first and only then – after the runner has arrived – make the throw.
As for
hitting, my son still hits much better off a gentle pitch than he does off a
tee but at least he is hitting the ball, smacking it squarely to the pitcher’s
mound each time. Running is his favorite
part of the game. As soon as he takes off
for first base a smile takes over his face.
But he is slow and I think it really does upset him that the other kids
are faster. In one of the innings he was
standing on second when the final batter got up. In teeball, the final batter always hits a
homerun and all the kids get to circle the bases. My son is often passed by the runner behind
him and he does not like when that happens.
So, in order to prevent it from happening, he picked up second base and
moved it about three feet closer to third base.
Smiling, he then got ready to run and was very dismayed when I told he
him had to return the base to where it belonged. As the kids cross home plate, they line up on
the grass between third and home to cheer each other on and to slap the hands
of their teammates as they run home to score.
My son also enjoys this very much and in the final inning he was so
anxious to hand out high fives that on his way home from third he stopped
running, joined his teammates on the sideline and held out his hand. All I could do was shake my head and sigh
since he completely ignored me when I told him to keep running. I guess giving me a high five just wasn’t as
exciting as giving them to his teammates.
I’m sorry I
have only one picture. I think my spouse
is getting tired of being the photographer.
Most of the time I take the pictures but, when it comes to teeball, I
can’t play coach and photographer at the same time.
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