Those of you who know me, already know that I am displeased
with the fact that teeball games are scheduled for seven o’clock at night. Seven o’clock is extremely late for four year
olds to be out playing, especially when you consider the games last close to an
hour and after they are over it takes twenty-minutes to commute home. This
means, it is nearly eight thirty by the time the kids are getting ready for
bed. On most nights, my spouse and I aim
to have dinner completed by half passed six so that I can begin booktime with
my son by seven. So tonight, at the time
when my son and I are generally cuddling with a few good books, we were
standing on the grass having a catch while waiting for the earlier teeball game
to finish. At two minutes to seven, I
looked at my watch in frustration because the first game was not yet over. The earlier game was supposed to start at six
and there is a forty-five minute time limit – in theory - which meant that the
field should have been vacated thirteen minutes earlier. I asked my spouse to take over the warm up so
that I could go find out how much longer the game would last, but my spouse
opted instead to inquire as to when the game might end. This inquiry agitated the other coach who -
puffed up with an attitude - curtly replied, “We have a just a few more
batters. We were delayed because of the
rain. Thank you for your patience.” I’m not sure how much of an impact the rain
had on the game since the rain lasted only a short spell and had stopped by six
o’clock. But when an already late game is delayed further, sleepy kids tend to
lose what little attention span they have.
And coaches, already cranky about the late starting time, get even
crankier.
When the other game finally finished at ten after seven, we immediately began our game. Earlier this week, my son totally surprised
me one day after school when he asked me to play baseball with him. I was more
than just a little excited to comply.
Sports after all used to be the center of my universe and I was happy
that my son was showing an interest. I
took out the bat and ball and instead of using a tee (since we don’t own one) I
gently pitched the ball to my son. And I
was super thrilled when he actually hit the ball – multiple times. What surprised me most was that without me adjusting
his stance, he seemed to swing much more naturally at a pitch than he ever did
at a tee. Granted his swing is a long
way from perfect, but he lost much of his awkwardness as he lunged after the
pitch. We played for awhile and when the
bat seemed to grow heavy in his hands he asked if we could use the plastic bat
and ball instead. I didn’t mind in the
least. I was happy that he wanted to
play, and we played for over a half hour.
And it wasn’t just that once that he wanted to play. Two other times during the week he came home
eager to play ball with me. So, after more
practice in one week then he probably had collectively up until last Monday, he
started today’s game with slightly more confidence and enthusiasm.
Standing at
the tee his stance was more relaxed than it had been in previous games and when he swung he hit the ball with a touch of power. Of course, he stared at
the ball, watching the opposing team swarm around it. Only when my loud voice, screaming at him to
run, finally registered in his ears did he threw the bat (this is something we
need to work on not doing) and took off in a slow sprint to the base. The poor kid tries so hard to run fast, but
his little legs just don’t carry him as quickly as he wants. The other day when we were on the playground
he actually asked me, “Why aren’t my shoes doing more to make me go faster? They are supposed to be super fast shoes.” I felt sad.
He wants so badly to be fast and he tries so hard, but his body refuses
to act in accordance with with his mind.
Despite his lack of speed, I love
watching him run the bases because he simultaneously exasperates and entertains
me each time. His innocence, naivety and
idiosyncrasies never fail to bring a smile to my lips and sometime a chuckle to
my throat. At one point during the game,
when he was running from second to third, he stopped in mid-stride to field the
ball that his teammate had hit. Bending
down he picked up the ball, threw it in the direction of first and then
continued on his way to third base. He
was just so cute, but at the end of the inning, I explained that when he is
wearing a helmet, his only job in the field is to run. “But Mama,” he argued, “The ball was right
there, I had to pick it up.” Another
time, after reaching second, he picked up the base and started to brush off the
dirt. For a moment, I actually thought he might try to steal the base and run
off with it. I had to shout out to him to return it to where it belonged. Tomorrow, we will have to have a discussion
about dirt and the fact that sometimes dirt can be a good thing, or at the very
least, not bad.
My son and I still have lots of
work to do on his fielding – both catching and throwing. During warm ups he asked me to throw the ball
"up." He did not want another
grounder. Against my better judgment, I
tossed the ball in the air, my son extended his glove and the ball promptly bounced off
the bill of his cap and landed on the ground in front of him. “Again, again,” he screamed, but I couldn’t
bring myself to do it again. I did not
want him to start the game with a concussion, so the next ball I tossed to him
was a grounder that went straight through his legs as he brought the glove down
about a second and a half too late.
In the field, my son is getting a little better about running to
the ball after it is hit, but there is still a long lag between catching (and I
use the term loosely) the ball and throwing it.
To compensate for the lack of strength in his arm, each throw begins
with a running start. He lowers his head
like a charging bull, runs as hard as he can then abruptly stops and throws the
ball with all his might. If he is lucky
the ball will travel three feet and every time, after completing his throw, he somehow ends up near the
ground in a crouching position. For the
last inning, he asked if he could play first base. Since I want the kids to have fun, I usually
grant their requests, unless they have already played the requested position
once already that day. I’m still afraid
my son might get hurt playing first, but I also know he’ll never learn if he
never plays the position. All the kids
who play first want to hover over the bag.
I suppose that seems most natural.
They have the hardest time stepping away from the base while the batter
is up, and once the ball is hit, they need to be reminded to run back to the
bag. My son, like most of the players,
likes to stand with two feet planted squarely on the base. Several times I had to show him that he is
only supposed to put his right foot on the corner of the base while holding out
his glove to make the catch. Not once
did the ball find its way into his glove, but that seems to be common for
teeball. My son would stand waiting patiently for one of his teammates to throw
the ball and then he would chase after it once he neglected to catch it. But
just recovering the ball and throwing home to the opposing team’s coach seemed
to make him happy. And not once all game
did he say he was bored, so maybe he is finally starting to enjoy teeball.
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