When I got my son's t-ball schedule I winced in pain. Two games a week? Two precious evenings a week given over to a sport? And in May? When we have so much else going on?
"Don't worry," my husband said. "He'll get bored with it. We won't be going to all the games."
But you know what? None of us has gotten bored, least of all my son.
I still can't believe how much I like to go to the games. The pace is best described as glacial. Everyone gets to swing at the ball until they hit it. Everyone catches the ball (almost always a grounder) cautiously as if it were an egg and then looks around desperately even though all the adults are yelling "Throw it to first! Throw it to first!" Finally the ball is under- or overthrown well after the batter has safely arrived at the base.
Even though pretty much every hit is a single, everyone gets to run in at least once during the game.
My three-year-old, who this week is pretending that he is a little chick (or as he says it "liggle chick") cheeps happily, climbs up the bleachers and points to the moon. Below us, the kids sitting on the bench squirm and elbow and giggle and wave their hats around and start chanting: "Let's go Royals, let's go!" even though there is no score and no one will win. The air smells alternately like flowers and the Port-a-let across the field. It is warm.
At the end, after four innings that take two hours, everyone will give high-fives and then there will be a really disgusting snack, like cheese doodles or boxed Rice-Krispee treats - things I would never normally sanction and which enchant my children, now dirty and exhausted. It is almost bedtime for the kiddoes, there are still dishes to do, laundry to fold, lunches to make, e-mails to write.
But somehow I won't mind that I just spent two hours wandering around after the little one while he went down the slide and played with his trucks in the sand of the horseshoe pit. I won't mind because at one point while glancing over to see what my older son was doing, I saw suddenly into his manhood: standing in the outfield he pulled his hat low over his eyes, squinted, caught the ball, and threw it in a smooth ark with a casual grace that took my breath away.
So often the things I do feel like "musts" and "shoulds" and "paying the bills." My day at work was one when all I felt was the slow creep of time (Is this all there is? Will I sit in this meaningless way at this desk until the day I die?) and the desperation of boredom.
But I am cleansed by t-ball, which just feels like joy, like suspended time, like a gift. I hope that all of you have something like this with your children, some simple moments to just be, even if they come in unexpected places.
© Kos Media, LLC.
Site content may be used for any purpose without
explicit permission unless otherwise specified.
Privacy Policy
Permalink | 13 comments