Princess decided a few days ago she wants to try softball, not just softball, but fast pitch. Part of me is excited she is showing an interest in another sport. The other part of me is horrified; why baseball? I dislike baseball. Throughout my life, baseball has never been a friend of mine, so I am trying my best to not show my issues with the sport. (Insert: Yes, Military Dad, you ARE going to hear the story about the T-Ball again, so deal with it!)
My first experience was a pee wee T-ball league when I was 7 or 8 years old. My dad didn't start out as the coach, but as it usually happens, he started assisting when the other coach couldn't show, or just needed help.
On a day my dad assisted the coach, I wasn't paying attention because baseball has NEVER been exciting to me. I was that child out picking flowers in the outfield. I don't remember much that infamous day, other than I knew I wasn't paying attention as usual. Supposedly my dad had tried to get my attention. (I was paying attention! Just not to him.) I paid attention a split second AFTER my dad threw the ball and yelled, "Ball!" I had threads in my chin for days. To this day, I cannot stand in front of a ball to catch it. I stand off to the side to reach it. (Insert: Military Dad, I will get over it, when I am good and ready to get over it!)
Later, when I was in middle school (junior high) I went to a St. Louis Cardinal's game with my dad. We were watching this huge rivalry game, between the home team (Cards) and the hated Chicago Cubs. Into some inning (yeah, that exciting), I decide to take a nap. Suddenly, I hear the crack of the bat, the one where you just know that a home run has just been hit out of the park. I stand up and start cheering; I'm excited! The Cardinal's just hit a home run, Yay! What I didn't immediately notice was: I was the only person cheering AND standing. The wonderful fans around us glared at me while my dad jerks me back down into my seat. Evidently, I had slept through the Cubs loading the bases....then hitting a home run. The Cardinal's lost that game.
In high school, I thought I may try this baseball thing again and try out for softball. I mean it's "soft" ball right, and girls play, it can't be that bad? I sit on the bench and watch warm ups; my confidence starts to build. Then this girl walks out to the pitcher's mound to warm up. That day, for some reason the coaches used a speed gun on her pitches. When she averaged some ungodly number, I did some calculations in my head. This was probably the only time I successfully calculated any physics problem in my head. After getting the answer through some pretty gruesome mental images, I got up and drove home, satisfied that baseball, in any form, just wasn't for me.
We don't watch baseball in our house. For some strange reason Military Dad is a Cub's fan and since I remain true to the area I grew up, I guess I'm a Cardinal's fan. More importantly, professional baseball puts me to sleep faster than watching golf on TV. I didn't think anything was wrong with this arrangement until I went shopping for baseball gloves with Little Dude.
I knew that if Princess was going to start playing softball, I better have something Little Dude could use. The issue is, he's a lefty. I had my old gloves for Princess, but nothing for him.
After my initial shock at left-handed equipment prices, I found the youth glove section. As I am bent down looking at sizes and handedness, Little Dude asks, "Mommy, what is THIS?" Hearing the excitement in his voice, I turned hoping to see some brightly colored, or just plain weird, item.
It was a bat. Yep, a normal, baseball bat.
"It's a baseball bat, Little Dude."
"Oh. What's a bat?"
Oh crap, really? My 3 year-old boy doesn't know what a bat is? I'm not sure whether to be proud (I've obviously enriched his life somewhere else) or ashamed. I did what anyone would do at this point, I grabbed his hand and led him to a different section.
Now we fast forward a few hours, to practice with the kiddos in a grassy field. Princess tries to catch the ball with her eyes closed. She doesn't seem to enjoy catching the ball, or anything flying at her face, so I figured we should start with fundamentals. What I didn't realize, was how wrong I was at the level of the fundamentals.
I show her how to throw over-hand, explaining that everyone in the outfield or infield, throws this way, except the pitcher who throws under-hand. I was expecting a question about over-hand and under-hand.
"What's the outfield?"
"Princess, do you see the grassy area we are standing in? This is the outfield. See that dirt area over there? That is called the infield."
I won't mention the other questions I got here, but let's just say, it seems, I may have deprived my kids of a few basic informational items.
Yes, the grassy field happened to be a baseball field and neither one of my kids realized it. After walking towards the infield and explaining the bases and the pitcher's mound, we practiced catching and throwing.
On my very first toss to Princess, I hit her square in the nose with the ball.
I should mention two things here. First, I can't throw, or aim for that matter. I was just aiming for somewhere within a two foot area around her body. Second, at that moment when she grabbed her nose, I was so thankful I was practicing with tennis balls.
Once she is over the shock and slight pain, she actually did well throwing it back to me. I toss the ball to Little Dude....and...hit...him...square...in...the...eye. What the...?! I quickly decide pop-ups and ground balls are better for us to practice. I figured my odds weren't great and I didn't want them to fear the ball. All-in-all the kids had a lot of fun and I got some exercise out of the deal.
After dinner, the kids tell Military Dad about their "practice." Princess tells him all about catching and how I hit her square in the face.
"Daddy, I tried to catch but I think my mitten is too big!"
Yes, her glove is indeed too big because I grabbed the wrong glove on the way out the door. Also, yes, yes she did call a baseball glove...a mitten.
Military Dad offers no help, because he is laughing to the point of tears. For the second time today, I have to explain something about baseball and how they aren't called mittens, they are mitts or gloves.
While this has been amusing, it's also a wake up call for me. Just because I don't find something enjoyable doesn't mean my kids shouldn't learn about it.
Trust me, it's better than waiting for that moment when your child is in the middle of a large group of people and asks about "that thing, you know the thing which hits the balls"....the bat? Or says, "my mitten is too big."
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