Crackers and Applejacks

This is only our first summer as t-ball parents and I’m really enjoying it. Of course, our coach is pretty patient and forgiving about missing whole practices, let alone being late.

There were appointments and speech therapy appointments and of course dance class and recital rehearsal. Although I’ll admit that I think there was at least one time when I just plain forgot.

I always enjoy watching baseball and softball more than a lot of other sports. It’s a step-by-step process. Batters take turns. Infielders and outfielders have places where they’re supposed to be, so you know where to look for who. By contrast, pretty much everybody is out on the field running in the same direction at the same time- at least that’s how it was for the K-3 teams.
What’s wonderful about watching the Pre-K through 2nd grade T-Ball teams is that it’s so low pressure. That might be the same reason so many people root for the Chicago Cubs. Watching a really good team that has a chance to get somewhere in the post-season can really be stressful.
You know the feeling, that same edge of your seat anxiety. Your adrenaline races as if the fate of the whole world depended on the next play.

Let’s face it, it’s more fun to watch a team that isn’t so close to perfect. You might get to laugh, you love to root for the downtrodden underdog, you empathize and you’re proud of them- not because of some massive accomplishment, but because you know they did they’re best and had fun doing it.

Still, you have to be careful as a parent not to try living vicariously through your kid. I’m certainly one who’d love to have my kids make up for how athletically inept I was when I was a kid.

I always got stuck Way out in far, far, far, deep, deep left field where I could do the least damage.

I couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn with a bat. I won’t even talk about my throwing. I think that I finally learned how to catch when I was in my twenties. The only difference between me and Charlie Brown is that they actually let him pitch.

One good thing about Grace having Apraxia is that I know that she’s going to have troubles with coordination so I don’t demand perfection.

I’ve seen parents who have a hard time if their baby isn’t a world class jock. When little so and so sits down in the dirt and plays with the grass instead of paying attention, some parents really chew them out. At least they don’t start chewing other people’s kids out yet at this age group.
In fact, the best thing about T-ball for these littlest kids is that everybody is cheering for all of them, even the opposing team’s crowd. It is pretty hard to hate 4-7 year old girls on the rival team as if they’re the enemy; they’re too damn cute.

Like when the littlest kid on the team gets a hit and runs to third instead of first. It was okay; she’s left-handed. Or when kids don’t realize that they’re even supposed to run when they’re on base and the next batter gets a hit.

Once Grace was on second and the batter got a hit and finally after waiting for her to get going, I shouted out “C’mon Gracie, run, honey, run!” And she galloped up to the pitcher’s mound instead of to third base. Hey, it looked like it was another base.

The other night, “Grand Slam” Taylor Sandy batted our loaded bases home and the opposing catcher had the ball but just stood there dumbfounded.

Eventually her fans called to her to touch home plate, louder and louder they cheered until finally she ran over to the T-Ball Tee and “touched base” on it, instead of on the real home plate. Our runs filed in safe. What ya gonna do? The bottom of the Tee is shaped just like Home only difference is that it’s black and has a big tall pipe sticking up out of it.

And who cares that the kindergarten shortstop just stands there playing with her loose tooth as the second baseman (a second grader) scoops up the ball that was hit right in front of her.

Just wait till Grandma and Grandpa in Arizona see pictures of her playing ball with her hair and make-up all fancy from the Dance rehearsal, patting her fist into her bright pink mitt!
And her three-year old little sister enjoys coming to games too, even if she doesn’t get to play yet. She climbs the bleachers like a jungle gym, explores the dugout and tries on helmets that are three sizes too big and loves to buy “beef turkey” at the concessions stand.

She even leaned the song, “Take me out to the ball game, Take me out to the clouds. Buy me some cwackers and Applejacks, then I can gem my shoes back…cause it’s 1..2…3…4…9 and go out to the GAME!”