A father's pride

I am back. I will be brief and very self-indulgent today. This is the story of a proud father, me. You see, Thursday, was the final baseball game for my son's team and league. It was always funny that with me tossing the ball, he had little trouble hitting. Then through the season, the best he would do at the plate was to hit weak ground balls to the right side of the infield (he bats left). He had kids on his team who could really hit for power from the right side of the plate.

I could not figure out why his hitting was so different. I was wondering if there was some performance anxiety, but I never sensed he was tense or uptight when he was up to bat. In fact, his coaches were quite encouraging to all the kids. His fielding was okay. He could stand to be more alert in the field, but he is nine, and that is how nine year olds are, or at least how this one is. He does not have the arm strength, not many do, to throw from short or third to first on a grounder. He was playing short when he made the catch and ate the ball. It was the right move. I was pleased.

On to his last at bat and the source of my pride. He is up with the bases loaded and hits a legitimate grand slam. I would be the first to admit if it were a double with a couple of errors along the way, but this was legit. He tagged a beautiful line drive that climbed out of the infield. When trying to think of how he finally was able to connect and provide his team with some left side power, it was apparent what the problem had been all season long. My son, my pride and joy, was too damn stubborn to wear his glasses while he played. As he touched home plate, I congratulated him and told him it is an amazing thing that hitting a softball is pretty easy when you can SEE it. Here is hoping that he has learned that lesson, or does he blindly bump his way through life, like Mr McGoo. Only time will tell (thanks to Asia for that one). Ciao!