As expected, I spent our nation’s annual Independence Day pretty much consistent with the past dozen years — as any baseball parent will tell you — dust flying, sweat dripping, lots and lots of testosterone, at the diamond with a complete slew of games. With tournaments for the older two boys and my youngest proudly fulfilling his role as a “batboy” (not too far a stretch from his revered perception of a “batman”), our day was full.
Amidst the fullness, however, one significant moment stood out…
There was my interaction with the opposing coach… who when I conferred with him at the end of an inning to ensure our individual scorekeeping was in sync, he was silent about an inaccuracy in the scoring — because, as he soon acknowledged, he was “hoping you didn’t catch it.” I wondered how often are we silent… because a miscommunication benefits self. But alas, this wasn’t the moment that stood out.
There was the umpire who made an obvious wrong call, calling a ball “foul” after it touched the catcher in fair territory. He didn’t see it, but upon confrontation, he simply entertained no dissent. I saw the ball. My angle was actually clearer than his. It mattered not; as said, he entertained no dissent. How often do we simply refuse to entertain dissent or opposing viewpoints? … especially if it means being humble enough to acknowledge a mistake? Again, alas, such was not the moment that stood out.
There was also the interaction with the fans in the stands of the opposing team. Over these past dozen years, at times it’s been my privilege to coach third base. Yesterday that meant a proximity far closer to persons I knew not nor with whom I shared the same passions or loyalties. It mattered not; we were able to talk about things more important than baseball (…yes, there are things more important than baseball, sports, games, you-name-it…). Still, though, this was not the moment that stood out most to me.
For the second in our slew of games, my oldest son was on the mound. Ever since those initial, teeny tee ball days, Jake has found solace and success on the pitcher’s mound. This game, however — if lost — would be his last. (Note: church softball leagues come next.) As the tight game continued on — and as victory was in jeopardy — this moment began to stand out.
Let me first note that this is a recreational league. After years of select baseball and select, select baseball, my boy and his buddies simply decided it would be a blast to play rec after the completion of their high school season. The goal was to play hard and have fun. That, they accomplished.
But as the game continued and I was keenly aware we were nearing the end, my mind rapidly sorted through the past 18 years. I sorted through Jake’s successes… his failures… and his failures that have led to obvious growth and successes…
I thought through all the moments we cheered… and still, too, the moments we walked away… in silence, tears, even disgust.
I must say I wondered how I would feel in this moment. Would I grimace? Would I cry? How would I feel at the actual end? Friends, I understand the tears. I get the many who find the moment — the end to a past mainstay activity as sad or bittersweet. But that wasn’t how I felt yesterday. Maybe it’s been all that’s happened in the past few months. Maybe its been the depth of our sorrow and the height of our joy. I wasn’t sad. I see the end of Jake’s past, promising baseball career as the necessary entrance into what’s next. At 18, there is obviously so much ahead of him — for each of our youth — so many good things! Jake’s solace and success on the mound has thus helped prepare him for what’s next. My whole heart celebrates whatever that is.
Hence, as the final innings evolved and Jake was still on the mound — now going longer than expected, Jake told me he unfortunately needed to leave the game early; he had to get to work. Duty calls, as the summer before freshman year, these kids have to raise money for college. Work comes before recreational sports.
And so there Jake went, pitching through a final inning, striking out the last batter he would ever face for out number three. He walked off the mound a final time. High fives. He then left the field… and went to work.
Fitting…
Well done, son. Happy Independence Day…
Respectfully…
AR