Today was the last game of my son’s first teeball season and
I must admit there is a small part of me that is sad that it has come to an
end. As frustrating as it could be at
times – lack of an assistant coach, late games and no access to equipment – it had
some spectacular and special moments as well – watching the kids figure out
what to do and enjoying my son’s quirkiness.
Like me, there were things about the season my son disliked – standing
in the field when nothing was hit to him, not getting a snack when parents
forgot them, and not being able to hit more than once an inning – but there
were also things that made him laugh and smile and have fun – getting a thumbs
up from me, making new friends, getting to field more than one ball a game and
running the bases, oh how he loved being on base.
Only five
kids out of seven showed up to play the last game. Not even the assistant coach – or his son –
was there, nor did he have the decency to tell me they weren’t going to be
there. But I suppose when you only show
up to coach three games out of fourteen it is understood that you won’t be
there. One of the little boys who did
show up had fallen asleep on the way to the field and when his parents woke him
up he was too groggy to play. I tried to
coax him out onto the field for the last game but he had no interest in playing
and I didn’t want to force him. However,
we weren’t too short on players since one of my son’s school friends was there
– having played an earlier game – and when he asked if he could fill in for one
of my missing players I said sure.
Sadly, my
son probably saw less action in the field today than in most prior games. In the first inning he played wingman, but
only one ball was hit to him. After
fielding the ball, instead of throwing it to first, he ran it into home and
simply placed in on the tee for the next batter. I think he was eager to get the game over
with since he knew he were going to a party afterwards and he was excited to
get there so he could play with his friend.
Needless to say, he was slightly exasperated when the coach of the other
team took the ball off the tee, handed it back to him and kindly encouraged him
to throw it to first. In the second
inning he asked me if he could play first, and since I was eager to have the
last game end on a good note I readily agreed.
As usual, he let every ball get passed him and half the time he even
looked surprised that the ball was headed in his direction. Sometimes I wonder if he really likes to play
first or if he just wants to stand there because it is where everyone else
wants to be. In the final inning he
asked to play second base and when I said yes he ran over to stand on the
base. When I explained to him that the
second baseman actually stands between first and second he argued with me. According to his four year old logic – and
perhaps the logic of everyone not so well acquainted with the game – if the
first baseman stands next to first base then the second basemen has to stand
equally close to second. After lots of
prodding, he finally moved to the correct spot.
While he was there, only one ball was hit to him, and when it was hit I
screamed his name and told him to get it. But one of the older kids totally
ignored me, out ran him and plucked the ball up just as he was about to reach
for it. Disappointed, frustrated and angry, he fell to ground and with his back
on the grass and his arms and legs stretched towards the sky he winked at the
sun and smiled. If only I knew what was
going through his mind. He did not want
to get up and so I had to carry him back to his position, but by then his mind
was completely out of the game and he hand no interest in playing.
The first
time up at bat he hit the ball and instead of running to first, he took off his
helmet and tried to hand it to his school friend, since his friend was up next
and did not have his own helmet. “No,” I
screamed, “Run to first, you have to run to first.” But he didn’t listen until
I grabbed the helmet, put it back on his head and pointed him to first. When he got to the base he looked crushed and
I felt terrible. So I went up to him and
explained that it was very nice of him to want to share with his friend, but in
teeball, when you hit the ball you have to run to first right away. And once on the base, you need to keep the
helmet on your head. But he was mad at
me for having gotten frustrated at him and so he didn’t talk to me for an
inning an a half. The second time at bat
he did much better. However, it is
rather adorable the way he watches the ball – while holding the bat - for a
second or two before his instinct to run kicks in, at which point, he tosses
the bat and, only when it lands on the ground, does he actually run. In that inning he made it to third without
incident but once he got to third he crouched down and picked up a rock. When the next batter hit the ball, he ran
three fourths of the way home, paused, dug a small hole, planted the rock and
then continued on to home. Later on when
I asked him why he planted the rock he responded, “I loved the rock and so I
wanted it to grow more rocks.” My son’s
third time at bat produced the first legitimate out all season. He hit the ball squarely to the kid on the
pitcher’s mound. The kid fielded it
flawlessly and threw it to first. With
his foot on the bag, the first baseman caught the ball before my son even got
half way. But since teeball doesn’t
actually calculate outs my son got to remain on the base and eventually run
home.
After the
game, each of the kids got a small bobble head trophy for participating in the
season. My son was thrilled to get his
first trophy, but the black spots on the gold troubled him greatly, so much so
that he announced that when he got home he would have to wash his trophy. I
tried to explain to him that the black wasn’t dirt, it was just the trophy’s
natural coloring but he didn’t believe me.
Instead, he made me promise that I would give him a wet towel and soap
at home so he could give the trophy a ‘bath.’
In the car, he clutched the trophy
in his hand, his smile etched with pride.
Beaming, he asked me, “Why do you have lots of trophies at Nonna and
Ba-bap’s house?”
“Because,”
I answered, “A long time ago, I used to be really good at the sports that I
played.”
“Maybe,” he
said, looking from me to the trophy, “I can bring my trophy to Nonna and Ba-bop’s
house and put it with yours.”
“Yes, you
could do that if you would like.”
“But if I
did that I couldn’t see it every day.
Maybe I’ll keep it home, but I’ll bring it to Nonna and Ba-bop’s just to
show them. Okay?”
“Okay.”
As for me,
I was rather surprised that some of the parents gave me a card thanking me for
coaching their sons. I was even more
surprised to find a gift card inside the card.
I must admit, it is nice to feel appreciated.
So, the big
question is, Will I coach again next year?
And my answer will have to be, It depends entirely on my son. If he wants to play next year then yes, I
will probably coach. As frustrating as
it could be at times, I don’t think I could go from coach to spectator. Now that I better know the kinks of the
league, I’ll be better equipped to deal with – or rather ignore – the things
that troubled me most.
Photo taken by Kati Jaeger
No comments:
Post a Comment