Yesterday was the opening day of little league here in Fresno.
Logan is on a tee ball team, The
Phillies, and opening day was a HUGE success.
We tried tee ball once before. He was four. His dad and
grandma were his coaches.
It wasn’t such a successful season.
Now, don’t misunderstand. I’m not talking success in terms
of runs and bats and such. I mean, c’mon, he was four. They don’t even keep
score in tee ball. Most of the kids on
his team had to be reminded where first base was every time they were up to
bat. It was a team of 4-5 year olds playing against other 4-5 year olds who
were just as lost, just as adorable in their too big jerseys and pants.
Success isn’t measured in numbers or stats.
I’m talking success in terms of attitude and enjoyment. He
was miserable. He wasn’t into it. He spent more time whining about having to
run than he did running, more time grumbling about putting his mitt on than he
did catching. Dad and Grandma being the coaches meant that he was always being
picked on.
And with good reason.
He didn’t want to try. He wanted to get a snack, drink his Capri
Sun, pick some grass and go home. He cried when he had to go to practice. He
cried when he had a game. He cried when it was his turn in the outfield. It was
more of a chore than it was anything else.
For him. For me. For Dad and Grandma.
So, we took a year off.
I decided that there was no
way I was going to pay another 80 bucks to spend four months fighting him
to go to practice, fighting him to follow directions, fighting him to have a good
attitude. I wasn’t forking over money for Nike cleats and new pants and a new
bat and pictures just to listen to him whine and complain. I wasn’t going to
spend 3-4 days a week arranging our families schedule around an extra
curricular activity that no one was enjoying, least of all the four-year-old
who was supposed to be enjoying it the most.
It was the right decision.
Looking back, I know the whole reason he signed up for tee
ball was because I wanted him to. He
was four. He had no idea what the heck it was all about. I said, “You’re
playing tee ball” and he said, “Okay.” Looking back, I know he wasn’t old
enough. Looking back, I know I rushed it because I was anxious to start him in
a sport, to start feeling like I had him ‘involved’ in something.
Another mom lesson learned. I was never so happy to see a
season end.
When fliers for tee ball came out this year, Logan
brought one home and asked if he could play. He was really excited about the
idea. Jeremy and I sat him down and had a real conversation about it. We
explained to him that he could play if he wanted to.
If. He. Wanted. To.
A six year old might not understand exactly how much money
100 plus dollars is but he is old enough to hear money is something Dad and I
work hard for. He is old enough to understand that we weren’t willing to spend
it to hear whining and complaining for four months.
There was no talk about him being an all-star. There was no
talk about him being the best player on the team. There was, however, a lot of
talk about attitude, about dedication, about appreciation, about follow
through.
About fun.
Playing a sport when you’re six is supposed to be fun.
When we were all three on the same page and Logan
assured us that he understood, I filled out the form. I wrote the check. I
bought the cleats and the pants. I crossed my fingers and hoped and prayed that
this year would be better.
Yesterday morning, my little Phillie was so excited.
The boys got to play at our minor league stadium, out on the
field, just like the big boys. He looked proud in his uniform. He was thrilled
to see his coach and his teammates. He was walking out on the field chanting, “Let’s
go Phillies, let’s go.” and yelling, “Let’s DO THIS THING!”
Jeremy isn’t coaching this year so he and I got to sit in
the stands and cheer him on. We were so thrilled about his excitement. Our
hearts were warm and our minds were eased before the first pitch was even
thrown.
He’s still on a team with kids too young to remember where
first base is all the time. They still don’t keep score. Everyone bats,
everyone runs home, everyone is adorable in their too big jerseys and pants.
Fielding is still kind of a foreign concept. One little boy kept skipping third
base and running from second straight to home. It was a riot.
But my kid…
My kid got up to
bat, no tee needed, beautiful stance, and hit the second pitch thrown at him
right down center field. He ran straight to first, no direction needed, and
turned around and gave Jeremy and I a thumbs up and a huge smile. He played
second base on defense and cheered everyone on, even the kids from the other
team. There was music playing through the loud speakers and at one point Jeremy
and I thought he had to pee. Turns out, he was just dancing to Madonna and
Justin Timberlake’s “Five minutes to save the world” in between pitches.
During the second inning, the older divisions ended their
games for a presentation of some sort and an 11 year old girl started to sing
the National Anthem. We were right in the middle of a game and everyone was
trying to decide whether to stop or keep playing.
Logan, playing
second base at the time, handled the situation like this…
It was the best baseball game I’ve ever seen.
Mom lessons come in all forms and I’m sure this won’t be the last one I learn when it comes to organized sports. I’m happy with the way it
turned out, though, and I’m looking so forward to this season. I think sports
are important and I love being my kid’s biggest fan.
Jeremy and I noted last night that it feels like Logan
has grown up so much in the last few weeks and while we’re both happy and sad
about that, I can’t imagine a better way to spend the next four months than
arranging our families’ schedule around a kid who’s having fun doing something
he has grown to love.
Let’s go Phillies, Let’s go!
Happy Sunday, Friends.
go. do. be.
