Boys and Baseball

What is it about boys and baseball? I’m not talking about the kids running the bases. I’m talking about the big boys doing the coaching. There’s something about this sport that brings out previously undisplayed passions. Watching these men coach and listening to them give rousing Go-get-‘em speeches in the dugout almost always shines a light on a side of these men I never imagined. These are guys who are quietly friendly and politically polite whenever I encounter them in the hallways on Back to School Night. Even at parties, these same men happily guzzle beer, but rarely raise their voices. We make conversation about the weather, township politics, even gardening, but their eyes do not light up like they do when a ten-year-old catches a pop fly or steals second.

Every fall the e-mails begin making the rounds begging for a soccer coach. Considering the

fact that soccer is the suburban sport of choice, you’d expect to find plenty of willing coaches. Not so. My poor hubby gets guilted in to coaching almost every year even though he didn’t play soccer (he’s a lacrosse man) and travels so much he misses at least a third of the season. But when baseball season rolls around, everyone wants to coach. There are hitting coaches and pitching coaches and catching coaches galore. And these guys are experts at least in their confidence if not their ability.

Don’t get me wrong, this is not a complaint or lament as much as it is a simple observation. Men love baseball. In fact, they love it so much it can reduce them to children. They argue and complain and bitch about league leadership, opposing coaches, subpar umpires, and occasionally overly enthusiastic mothers. The theatrics and drama on occasion leave me speechless while I silently think, “They’re acting like a bunch of women!” They quit the league and start their own as often as Southern Baptists in Georgia. The sport transforms them from mild mannered model citizens to zealots in search of their field of dreams. Bottomline is that it can make them nuts. Which makes the ten-year-olds running the bases sometimes look like the adults out there.

But as I said, I’m not complaining. I appreciate passion and commitment. And these men have those two things in disproportionately huge numbers. I love to see a person who believes in what they’re doing. It’s inspiring. Especially when what they’re doing is for the kids. I’m offering the benefit of the doubt on this one because most times I don’t understand the issues at stake or the level of disagreement or pettiness that can overflow like the Susquehanna.

I don’t know how much of the craziness the kids pick up on. For the most part, they simply want to play ball. I know my kid loves the game and grins ear to ear when he comes across the plate. He can deconstruct each play in which he touched the ball, explaining it to me like a patient preschool teacher. When I watch him in the outfield I’m amazed that he knows exactly where to move depending on factors like which bases hold runners, what kind of batter is at the plate, and where the ball goes when it’s hit. It’s certainly more detail than I could juggle. I keep track of the balls and strikes, outs and runs on an app on my phone. Without it I’d be lost, yet these men that crowd the dugout can replay every pitch. It’s a wonder.

One of my favorite aspects of baseball is the necessity of “backing up” the other players. The right fielder backs up the first baseman. The second baseman backs up the pitcher. The pitcher backs up the catcher. The left-fielder backs up the third baseman. I’m enamored with the concept that backing up someone is not your job because that person is bad at his job or weak with his skills. It’s simply because none of us are perfect. Sometimes the ball gets through, and sometimes you can’t hold on to a hard hit. What a beautiful life lesson. We need to back each other up. And we need to be backed up. Not only does the concept of backing up each other cement a team, many times it is the difference between winning and losing.

Another valuable lesson that baseball teaches is that if you don’t swing, you can’t get a hit. If you strike out swinging, at least you tried. No one gets a hit every time, and the boys who get the big hits strike out plenty. To strike out swinging is nothing to be ashamed about. Life is all about taking a swing. If you sit on the bench or stand still at the plate, you won’t get anywhere in baseball or life. It’s quite the metaphor.

I hope that when my son graduates from Little League, he takes with him many of the lessons he’s learned there. I hope he always has the courage to take a swing and I hope he always has the strength to back up the people around him. And I truly hope there will always be someone out there to back him up.

It Does (thankfully) Take a Village

We were picking crabs one night with friends on an unseasonably warm late spring evening. The sky threatened to ruin our evening, but other than a few sprinkles, it never made good on its promises. 

Our friends’ teenager is my oldest son’s best friend and I affectionately call him my “other son.” He is the youngest of four incredibly smart, competent, and truly good kids. I’m in awe of this couple and what they’ve accomplished. My own kids seem like spoiled slackers in comparison. So I take every opportunity to hang out with them, hoping some of their wisdom will rub off on me. 

When the crabs arrived, the other dad joined the kids at their end of the picnic table and launched in to an enthusiastic lesson on how to properly pick crabs. He was patient and encouraging, and waded through their questions about “the gross yellow stuff” and the “squiggly white things” with good humor, calmly admonishing my youngest not to “bash” the crabs quite so hard with his hammer.  

His wife and I watched and she laughed and said, “He’s good to have around. He always makes sure everyone is taken care of and having fun.”

I comment, “That probably makes him good to raise four kids with.”

She smiled and said, “That too.” 

It’s important to have a partner when raising kids. In fact, it’s important to have several partners, whether they are spouses, uncles, aunts, grandparents, friends, or teachers. None of us have all the qualities of the perfect parent. None of us can teach our kids all they need to know. It may be cliché, but it certainly does take a village. 

School is peeking over the horizon and every conversation with other parents begins, “Which teacher did your child get?” Of course, there are a few I would prefer, but at this juncture in my experience, I have to say, it isn’t critical. My kids have had some wonderful teachers – people who lifted them up and brought out abilities in them I had never thought possible. And my kids have had some not so stellar teachers. It’s inevitable. Even teachers with a reputation for being excellent aren’t always a good match for a particular kid. 

I remember an elementary school teacher my oldest son had years ago. She was difficult and unorganized and critical of my son. To his credit, he took it well. After sitting in for recess once again for a missing paper (that turned up in her stack on her second search), he came home and said, “I’ve figured her out.”

“Really?” I asked, curious to hear his observations.

“Yeah, she’s from a different planet than me. So I’ve just got to figure out what language she speaks on her planet.”  Not bitter, and with nothing else to add, he headed outside to play. 

I was blown away once again by the wisdom of a child. And grateful for this teacher I had been lamenting. She was teaching my son a lesson it takes many of us years to learn. We all have to work with people who don’t “speak our language.” It’s part of life and figuring out how to play nicely with everyone is an important life skill critical to our success and survival.  

My husband and I have very different parenting styles. He’s more of a take-no-prisoners kind of dad. He yells first and asks questions later. Generally his first answer is no, but the kids know he can be reasoned with. This may sound harsh, but it is a good counter-balance to my waffling-let-me-explain-why-I-think-you-should-do-this way of parenting. My kids have figured out when it comes to just about anything except what they eat and how much screen time they get, there is always wiggle room with me. 

Some days I get frustrated with myself and the authority that seems to elude me not only with my children, but with my incorrigible dog. So it’s nice to have someone who isn’t afraid to be the bad guy. 

My husband is the one who teaches them the technical stuff – math, tools, computers, and sports. My expertise is better suited to teaching them about relationships, social issues, personal health, and wondering. It helps when your spouse is such a perfect complement, even though our differences can also get in the way of presenting the unified front that good parents should have.  

My mother-in-law is really good at teaching my children to be skeptical of the messages they hear from the media and their peers. My mom loves to indulge my children and in so doing teaches them it’s OK to enjoy forbidden fruits like Fluffanutter sandwiches and Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal every now and again (or whenever you visit Grammy).  

The example my little brother has set by serving in the Air Force for 22 years has been a living object lesson in respect for our country and the fact that there are people who risk their lives for our freedom. 

There have been many volunteer coaches that have imprinted on my kids, I couldn’t mention them all. During baseball season one coach told my husband, “Your son is such a joy – so coachable and fun to have around.” When he relayed the coach’s comments, I teared up in gratitude and pride. It humbles me again and again that these men and women volunteer their time and energy (and patience!) to help my children learn not only how to play a sport, but to be team players. 

The bad examples can sometimes teach our children important lessons too. Watching a confrontation in the Walmart parking lot, led to a discussion on respecting others. A snide comment about my bumper sticker from a person who disagreed with my electoral choice, gave us a chance to talk about political freedoms.  

Unexpected witnesses also imprint on our children. Working at our church’s soup kitchen and encountering a mentally ill person, opened up a conversation on the challenges of caring for someone who can’t care for themselves which wound its way to a discussion at the bus stop of our society’s responsibility in such circumstances. 

(Pictured is a coach my son still views as a superhero.)

Teachers, partners, healers, leaders, and prophets are scattered all through our lives. Appreciating this can help you to feel less alone as a parent. 

I’ll say it again, it take a village to raise good kids. None of us can do this alone and that is a relief! So on the days I don’t think I’m up to snuff on this parenting deal, I take comfort in fact that so many other people are investing in my kids. In the end it will be a cumulative effort. I won’t be able to take all the credit, nor all the blame. Whew!