Too young for T-ball, but happy to be with Grandpa
There was a time when I thought that God lived in the Sheffield water tower, and if you wanted to visit Him, out came the banana peels to keep you out of heaven. Now before you think too unkindly, please understand I was only about eight years old.
That memory and more like it came flooding back as Gary and I sat at the park to watch our grandkids play ball. At first I couldn’t understand the connection; now I do.
I look around at the faces of moms and dads, aunts, uncles, grandpas and grandmas at the games and sometimes, for a second or two, I can imagine I see that recollection in your expression. It’s the achingly-sweet memory of your own childhood when life was simply one fun day after another.
The kids in T-ball are precious. We’ve watched as baserunners collide with fielders and, shocking as this may sound, the runner will stop and apologize to the one he ran into. I raised my hand to my mouth as I giggled, but my eyes stung with tears at how tender this child’s heart is at this time in his life.
Another runner on his way to third stopped to pick up the ball his teammate had just smacked. He handed it to one of the opposing team players, then continued his base running. No one yelled at him, they cheered him instead.
The score doesn’t matter to the little ones in this league, but that will change. We can see that when we watch our other grandson play in the PeeWee division.
Almost all of these young ones are serious about their game. We often hear them ask what the score is, even while an adult will tell them that it doesn’t matter. Don’t kid yourself, it does. I still haven’t figured out whether I want it to matter to them.
On the one hand, it would be nice if every one of the kids would pay close attention to the game at hand, whether they’re in the field or up at bat. Actually, they’re all pretty darn intent on hitting the ball; it’s the waiting for everything else that strains their attention span.
Yes, they build dirt piles in the infield, they adjust their hats in the outfield, and if they’ve done all that they look for their cheering section so they can wave for the umpteenth time. While waiting to bat they want something more to drink or they have to go to the bathroom (get the connection?), or they come out to visit with the adults. Sometimes they climb the fence in the dugout or maybe they think there’s something worth looking for in the nearby trash can.
I don’t see how you can pitch your chair at an early-morning or late-evening kids’ ball game and not take that journey back in time. It was during that part of your life before bills and loss and concerns too numerous to mention took hold of your mind. You remember, don’t you?
It may be that none of you believed what I did about where God lives. That’s perfectly okay. A child’s heart is open to infinite possibilities; its imagination knows no limits. I believe it’s up to all of us to see to it that our little guys and gals take full advantage of these sweet days of their youth. Someday they will be watching their kids play ball or dance or whatever passion they decide to follow.
Here’s hoping they too will find the tender memories of their youth safely tucked away and waiting for them. We love our children and grandchildren. Let’s do all we can to make this time in their lives one they will want to remember.
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