My number two child is all about sports. He loves any type of sports. If it involves a ball, a stick, or any sort of competition, he will be right there in the thick of it.
His current sport (and probably his number one love) is baseball. This kid loves baseball and is always asking that someone either play catch or pitch balls to him. He would literally do it all.day.long if he could.
Baseball season started a few weeks ago. To date we have had four games. Noah is one of the youngest on his team, but skills-wise, he is probably in the top half of the pack. However, I believe that Noah is probably the most determined kid on the team. Every at-bat is faced with the utmost concentration, and on most occasions he is able to connect with the machine-pitched fast ball and succeeds in getting on base. Last week, Noah hit a single and was sitting on first base. The next batter also made connection with the ball, and sent a pop fly straight toward second base.
Now this is Single A baseball. Seven and eight year olds. Nine times out of ten, the kids do not catch pop flys. The odds were in Noah’s favor. However, the second baseman caught the ball, and Noah become the second out in a double play because he had made the mistake of leaving first base.
Oh, I felt it! I felt his pain all the way from the bleachers. You know the pit you feel in your stomach when something bad happens? That is how my stomach felt as I watched him jog off the field. He kept a brave face until he reached the very back corner of the dugout. As I watched his little chin quivering, and grabbed his fingers through the chain linked fence, I realized that there would be many more moments like this. Moments when I wished with all my heart that I could ease the pain.
And then, after a few minutes, Noah collected himself and said, “Well, I had to run, because if he would have dropped it, I had to get to second base before he did.”
And with that, my Noah was back in business.
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