He's 8. Only 8 freakin' years old, and wants to join a baseball team that he needs to TRY OUT for. It's not a big deal for him, but it's killing me. Tryout's were Saturday. About 20 kids strutted their stuff for approximately 6 coaches with pads of paper, watching their every move and jotting down notes every time one of the kids adjusted their ball cap.
Every time Sporty was "up" to bat, catch, show his stuff in the infield,(attempt) to pitch, etc ... my chest became heavy and it was almost inconceivable to ask me to turn my eyes in his direction and witness his very first attempt to make a team that I'm afraid he won't be asked to become a part of. Sporty has always been a very good athlete in general, however, now that he is getting older, his size is playing against him. Most of the other children are growing, and Sporty is not. In 3rd grade now and only about 47 inches tall and 42 pounds. Not a lot of body weight behind him, preventing him from hitting anything past the infield, but his little legs will scoot. I'll give him that. A lot of the boys his age are 60 and 70 pounds, that's a big difference and it shows on the ball field.
The motherly instinct to protect kicked in and I just wanted to run out on the field and whisk him up, throw him in the car and race him home, every time a pitch whizzed by him as he swung the bat with all of his might. STRIKE! Ouch, insert dagger into my bleeding heart.
I must say, Sporty is quite a sport and I was so proud of him as he never became frustrated, continued to try his best and kept going through the entire 1 and a half hours of intense evaluations on his every move. He even insisted on going forward after being hit in the eye with a ball from an under thrown toss that bounced up from the ground as he tried to catch it at first base. That's my little man! Such a tough little booger.
When tryouts were over and we were safe and sound back in our car, I asked what his favorite part was of the series of tasks they were asked to perform, and he replied, "Batting!" Giggling inside to myself, I realized how amazing he is. Batting, huh? Don't kids usually like the parts they are GOOD at? He missed probably 6 out of 10 pitches, and that was his favorite? It's sad, because Saturday was a very OFF day for Sporty. Normally he plays baseball a hell of a lot better than he did that day. But hey, that's the way it goes, right?
Coaches said we'd hear something in a couple of weeks. An Iowa Dad and me wishing the decisions could be made THAT day, putting an end our first taste of agony waiting to hear whether our first born, made the team he's been dying to play on for over a year. As we sit and ponder over every play he made, he jumped out of the car and ran to the neighbors to play FOOTBALL with the kids tackling each other in the yard across the street, not giving the last hour and a half of tryouts a second thought ...
Yesterday evening, as I was preparing dinner, the phone rings and the caller ID reads the coach's name and number. For an instant butterflies danced in my belly as I clicked the button to greet him. A scrimmage game scheduled for Wednesday, could he make it so they could take a second look at him? Aaahhhh, the torture continues and An Iowa Dad and I Sporty will have to endure another couple of hours of scrutiny. He'll love it. We'll suffer through it. Just a taste of what is yet to come ... this is the first of many, I'm sure. But what it all boils down to for me anyway is that if he doesn't make the team, how many pieces will his heart break into? How many tear drops will fall from his eyes? Will I be able to find all the right words to comfort him and make it all better? Will I be able to mend his broken heart? The pressure is on ... I hope I can live up to the wonderful title of MOTHER!
