This is our first year to play baseball and by “our” I mean Z Man’s. I remember playing rag ball (named so because the ball we used was really soft and made out of cloth) when I was a short little toot of a girl. I also remember popping my knee when running to first base and my dad plunking me on top of his truck hood and getting one cube of ice from his cup and putting it on my knee. That somehow made it all better. I have no idea why I remember that. It’s like random neurons connecting just for the fun of it.
I played softball until I left home for college, mostly fast-pitch in school and was highly competitive. I started playing co-ed softball again last summer and while still competitive have learned to take a bit of the edge off. My past playing makes it hard to “watch” Z play baseball and not be involved. I try to only offer words of encouragement and not too much detail, things simply like “just watch the ball and swing hard”. He tends to be a bit goofy and not too competitive yet which is the complete opposite of his younger brother. More frustrating to his father than myself.
A few weekends ago his coach signed them all up for a mini-camp with Texas States’ baseball team (the same college I graduated from) on a Sunday morning. Z and I had spent the day before in Austin all day for a speech competition and I was tired but we had said he would go so we got up early and headed into town. The first thing the boys get to do is sit in the “big boys” dugout. Then some of the younger players come out and do drills with the boys (hitting, fielding, pitching, running, etc). The camp was really a primer for the bigger (and paid for) summer camps the Bobcats put on but I saw that Z was really getting into it. He wasn’t however interested in going to the game after the camp, that is until some of the ball players started signing some of the boys gloves and hats. Z got three signatures from a couple of freshman ball players and suddenly he was in LOVE with baseball and we absolutely had to come back for the game.
After the camp was over I went to the ticket box and got us a few tickets (reserved seating was $5 more) and we got front row seats behind home plate. All the kids who attended the camp got to stand on the field during the National Anthem and then run the bases and get signatures after the game. Z saved a Blow Pop he got for the guy who hit a home run. He turned out to be a nice guy, asked Z his name and shook his hand then actually ate the Blow Pop. I should have told him Z had put the stick of the Blow Pop in his mouth but hey who am I to ruin a moment? Texas State has some pretty good baseball players and I wouldn’t mind seeing another game. Chalk up another long day away from home and my weekend vanished into thin air. This week and next we finish up baseball with two make-up games and then summer is upon us. Someone help me.
This is our first year to play baseball and by “our” I mean Z Man’s. I remember playing rag ball (named so because the ball we used was really soft and made out of cloth) when I was a short little toot of a girl. I also remember popping my knee when running to first base and my dad plunking me on top of his truck hood and getting one cube of ice from his cup and putting it on my knee. That somehow made it all better. I have no idea why I remember that. It’s like random neurons connecting just for the fun of it.
I played softball until I left home for college, mostly fast-pitch in school and was highly competitive. I started playing co-ed softball again last summer and while still competitive have learned to take a bit of the edge off. My past playing makes it hard to “watch” Z play baseball and not be involved. I try to only offer words of encouragement and not too much detail, things simply like “just watch the ball and swing hard”. He tends to be a bit goofy and not too competitive yet which is the complete opposite of his younger brother. More frustrating to his father than myself.
A few weekends ago his coach signed them all up for a mini-camp with Texas States’ baseball team (the same college I graduated from) on a Sunday morning. Z and I had spent the day before in Austin all day for a speech competition and I was tired but we had said he would go so we got up early and headed into town. The first thing the boys get to do is sit in the “big boys” dugout. Then some of the younger players come out and do drills with the boys (hitting, fielding, pitching, running, etc). The camp was really a primer for the bigger (and paid for) summer camps the Bobcats put on but I saw that Z was really getting into it. He wasn’t however interested in going to the game after the camp, that is until some of the ball players started signing some of the boys gloves and hats. Z got three signatures from a couple of freshman ball players and suddenly he was in LOVE with baseball and we absolutely had to come back for the game.
After the camp was over I went to the ticket box and got us a few tickets (reserved seating was $5 more) and we got front row seats behind home plate. All the kids who attended the camp got to stand on the field during the National Anthem and then run the bases and get signatures after the game. Z saved a Blow Pop he got for the guy who hit a home run. He turned out to be a nice guy, asked Z his name and shook his hand then actually ate the Blow Pop. I should have told him Z had put the stick of the Blow Pop in his mouth but hey who am I to ruin a moment? Texas State has some pretty good baseball players and I wouldn’t mind seeing another game. Chalk up another long day away from home and my weekend vanished into thin air. This week and next we finish up baseball with two make-up games and then summer is upon us. Someone help me.
