For many of us, Little League baseball was our first organized sports experience. Before there were pre-school skateboarding classes and six-year old golfers with private swing coaches, Little League introduced us to athletics and being part of a team. I can recall with great pride, marching through downtown Manlius in my Braves uniform for our town’s annual Memorial Day parade. As I walked by Sno-Top, (Only the best ice cream place in the world because it’s the one from my childhood.) I was filled with purpose and a sense of belonging—I had found a tribe.
With such nostalgic cornball Americana memories of Little League, it’s hard to imagine that I was dreading the time when my own sons would start playing baseball. But I was. Baseball is slow. There’s not much action. Only one kid at time can bat; the others are watching. As a former teacher, I value kids activities with maximum participation and engagement. In comparison to baseball, soccer seems more democratic—even though there’s only one ball, at least everyone can be running around.
I know what you’re thinking. This is the part where Steve sarcastically dissects a suburban experience for his own entertainment. Well, you’re wrong. Just like I was wrong about the boys playing baseball. Little League has been great for the entire family and has really defined this spring. In some cases, good parenting is just getting out of the way.
One of the nice things about the boys being close in age is that they can sometimes play on the same team together. While Ryan and Chase may not agree with the preceding statement, Jenni can appreciate reducing the transportation commitment to one team’s practices and games. But the convenience of having both boys on the Owlz came at a price—Chase would be one of the youngest kids in the division.
With Chase’s January birthday he could have played T-Ball with younger kids or the next level up with a pitching machine and his older brother. It was the classic Big Fish in Little Pond vs. Little Fish in Big Pond predicament. After much deliberation, Jenni decided to keep the boys on one team.
Still, Jenni is a mom and worry comes naturally with that vocation. Immediately after the season started she worried that she made the wrong decision and Chase should have been in T-ball instead. It didn’t help that in the first few practices some of Chase’s new teammates reminded him he was the shortest one on the team. Chase was given the #1 jersey as it was the smallest size available. While our youngest was unfazed, Mom and Dad were a bit anxious heading towards the season opener.
As fate would have it, Chase was the very first batter of the season. (Coach Rich has the batting order follow the jersey numbers on their shirts = smart!) As Chase approached the batters box, his oversized batting helmet made his slight body look even smaller; he looked like a lollipop walking to the plate.
Jenni and I were nervous as we watched from the stands. Chase had yet to connect with a pitch from the machine in batting practice. As he swung through air at the first few pitches (you get five per at bat in our league) Jenni and I yelled encouragement to our batter at the plate. “Good swing, buddy!” Chase dug in for his fifth pitch. I was mentally prepared for Chase not to hit the ball today and immediately starting crafting my own personal “You’ll get ‘em next time” speech in my head.
Coach Rich raised his right hand holding the baseball before placing it in the pitching machine. I was breathless as the pill flew towards home plate. With all his being, Chase lunged at the ball and his bat barrel swept across the plate. And in an instant, the perfect baseball sound of bat meeting ball punctuated the air.
“Run, Chase!”
He didn’t hit it far, but he hit it far enough. I think the contact surprised Chase and he paused for a second before breaking out of the batters box. As his tiny little legs carried him down the line, my heart raced inside my chest. The opposing team wrestled for the ball in front of the pitchers mound, but it was too late—my man was safely standing on first base. Chase raised both arms in triumph and did a little dance on the bag. Tears of joy wiped away the worry from my wife’s face.
After three more Owlz hits, Chase finished circling the bases and victoriously touched home plate. The crowd cheered. As Chase returned to the dugout, his teammates circled around him and patted him on the helmet. Granted there was the novelty about being the first run of the season, but it was a joyous celebration nonetheless. A million dollar smile lit up Chase’s face — he had found a tribe.
