A Star is Born

We have a little star on our hands.  A Kirkwood Star to be exact.  My son is officially a member of the Kirkwood Youth Hockey League.  They wear the star proudly, and we watch as shivering and elated parents with stars in our eyes. 

My son officially began as a "mite" two weeks ago.  It is very exciting, as they are currently in "try outs."  The thirty six and seven year old kids are being judged and placed by their ability level.  The parents watch on the sidelines nervous with anticipation.  Down the length of the ice there are red, white and blue teams, each team scrimmaging across the ice.  The red team is fast and superior.  They have real goalies and jet across the ice effortlessly.  The white team is not quite as good, but better than the blue team.  They don't have goalies.  But they have heart and guts (and small nets.)  The blue team is made up of  beginners. 

Our son falls between the two teams.  Placed in the lowest team first, we watch as he scores four goals and skates circles around his teammates.  They move him up to the white team.  We try not to yell out loud for fear that the blue team parents will give us the evil eye.  We try to inconspicuously move over to the white team bleachers.  The next practice, he is back on the blue team.  We are confused, but resume our space in the last bleachers.  He takes his turn on the ice and the coaches quickly check their clipboards.  They move him up again.  We breathe a sigh of relief.  Oh, good.  He hasn't gotten worse.  I feel like this is college tryouts...  

Since last practice, we have given him our most constructive advice.  No diving for the puck.  Skate fast.  And no pitching hay.

Pitching hay is our new term for Tyler's bad habit of standing upright and holding his stick parallel to the ice up in the air across his body.  He does this to look cool.  He glides toward the puck and waits for it to come to him.  He has one hand on each end of the stick, and the end that should be in contact with the puck is parallel with his waist.  "There are no pucks in the air," we remind him.  Then we show him the movement of "pitching hay"... very similar to the movement he is making on the ice.  Yes, he looks cool.  But, he is not making contact with the puck.  He has to bend down, put his stick on the ice and go after the puck.  He has to earn his star status. 

It's the same in life.  We have to earn our stars.  There is no gliding.  Nothing comes to us that isn't earned.  Diving in the way of the puck never works.  And scoring is hard work. 

This early in his career, they say it's all about how much "ice time" he has.  It's about the basics and how well he skates.  I notice that more than half the drills involve skating hard, falling down, and getting back up as fast as possible.  After the basics of skating are mastered, the rest of the game comes more naturally.  It's his competitive drive that makes him fake out his opponents with clever stick-handling and score.  But, skating is work and requires d discipline.  Talent takes over after the discipline is established. 

I notice this in life as well.  Once we have our "feet under us," and the discipline necessary to succeed in our "sport," our talent can flourish.  But, the fun stuff - the flair - never comes without putting in the long hours of practice and drills.  Skating in hockey is like dedication to a purpose in life.  The dedication and discipline it takes to fulfill a purpose may be behind the scenes.  But the final product will end up starring.  Talent will prevail if discipline holds it up!

Catching Life's Moments - Big and Small

Out of forty two thousand fans in the Cardinals Stadium on Labor Day, my son was one of the more excited ones.  He had his glove (which he almost forgot in the car) his Cardinals cap and jersey, and a great seat almost behind home plate in section 148.  We were ready to go!  The older ladies next to us joke with my six year old.  "Will you protect us from the foul balls?" they ask Tyler.  He nods assuredly.  I looked down the row.  All women.  He had a big job. 

Every time a player came up to the plate, Tyler would punch his fist into his glove and focus intently on the pitch.  "Foul tip."  "Strike."  "Ball," he would color commentate through every play.  In the third inning, rookie Allen Craig came up to bat.  We all watched - my husband, my sister, and my son.  We had to.  We had already seen several foul balls ricochet through the stands.  One bounced off the box and into the seats to the right of us.  Another one beelined into the crowd behind first base.   Ouch.  That one looked like it hurt...someone. 

Allen Craig, number twenty-one, swung and popped one up...high up... behind home plate.  I looked up and realized that ball was flying high up over our heads and then coming down straight towards us.  My eyes are peeled but I shield my face with my hands.  Tyler stands up, lifts his gloved hand over his head, chin in the air, head up.  I do not have enough hands for shields, so I pray under my breath.  Oh, god, please don't let that thing knock us out.  My husband stands up, protectively, and tries to anticipate where it might go.  The guy behind us leans forward with his hat turned upside down.  We are all poised in various ways to see where this darn ball is going to land.  Every second is like an eternity.  I am holding my breath, hoping no one blacks out.  I wince as it gets closer.  Then I hear a pop. 

It's a clean, round pop, right next to me.  I look over and realize my son just caught the ball.  He looks in his glove surprised.  He is right next to me.  I heard the pop, but didn't actually see him catch the ball.  He shows it to me in his glove.  My husband yells, "He caught the ball!"  The older ladies look over.  "You caught the ball?" They can hardly believe it.  Someone in front of us yells, "Let's see it!" 

What happened next, I couldn't have orchestrated better had I been whispering in God's ear, "Please do this next if you don't mind."  More people turned at the commotion and another person yelled, "Show us the ball!" 

Tyler rose from his chair, still stunned, but slowly letting the revelation of what he had done wash over him.   He raised his hand with the ball in it and proudly showed everyone.  Three rows deep on every side turned, clapped and cheered.  He was a miniature hero, a symbol of what this game was all about. 

It was a dismal game.  One to four Milwaukee was the final.  But, our little section didn't care.  We couldn't stop talking about the six year old kid who fearlessly caught the sky high foul ball.  I asked him, "Were you scared before you caught it?"  He shook his head.  Another lady asked him if he went to many games.  "Only five or six this year," he said.  "Is this the first ball you have caught?"  she asked teasingly.  He was serious.  "Yeah, this is the first one," he replied, "for now." 

Of course, since the game had just begun, my son thought that surely he could catch another one in the next six remaining innings.  He had no concept yet that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.  He will remember this for the rest of his life. 

And so will I.  I will remember it not so much for the novelty and skill.  My husband can't stop talking about the skill.  "I can't believe he caught it.  That is a professionally hit foul ball.  This kid is something else."  No, I will remember  this moment for the look of pride it put on my son's face.  It wasn't a haughty pride.  But, a shocking pride and a realization that he can do anything he puts his mind to. 

It wasn't the fact that the ball was caught that was memorable to me.  It was the effect that it had on my son that was special.    

It made me realize that life happens in moments.   Some big.  Some small.  Some once-in-a-lifetime.  What threads them all together is what we learn from life's moments and how we use those lessons to better ourselves and the people around us.   The more lessons you learn and lessons you can teach, the more you will have to commemorate, light up, and show off in shadow boxes on your wall.  Shadow boxes like the one that you can bet I'm going to get to show off that ball.  It will be a great story to come.  But, in my heart it will be a great milestone.  And it will remind me of a lot more than just a catch at a game.