The Bombers Go All the Way!

Last night was the final game of fall ball for my son’s baseball team, “the Bombers.”  Dressed in cherry red and navy blue uniforms with cursive letters on the front of their jerseys, this scrappy group of misfits looked fresh out of the post World War 2 era.  We were playing our last game against the formidable team, dubbed the Pirates “A” team.  They were an elite team of polished players who poached good players from other teams and held tryouts to man their roster with only the best, relegating the rest to the “B” team. 

Dressed in all white, the Pirates looked pristine prancing out to their positions.  Their coach chewed tobacco on the 3^rd base line and yelled orders as each player solemnly walked to the plate. 

The Pirates’ dugout was serious and quiet, as the team patiently listened to coach’s strategy and laid out their game plan.  Our dugout, on the other hand, was mass chaos, as our coaches focused on getting the players to actually stay in the dugout rather than running off to go potty or doodling in the dirt.    

As the parents, we just hoped it wasn’t a blowout.  “Watch the ball!  Stay ready!  Bend your knees!,” we yelled anxiously from the sidelines.   

The Pirates were undefeated and had a reputation for man handling their competition.  They were “in it to win it” and we were pretty much in it to…. well, just to be in it.  They lacked the uniqueness of our team though.  We had Joey – a cross eyed, small kid with a crackly high voice, who was too young to be on our team, but we needed players and let him on anyway.  Joey was the one who had to go potty every 30 seconds. 

Mick was tall and lanky but slow as an elephant and about as disinterested as one too.  Cory was a couple years too young and came up to some of the pirates belts in height.  But, we kept him on because he was going to be good and his dad coached the team.  

We were a determined bunch.  By some happenstance, Joey always managed to get on base, and we had Luca.  Yes, Luca Zarky - our best player.  Bigger, taller, and could hit the *** out of the ball.  We all cheered when Luca came on base and silently prayed that he would wallop one out to center field far enough so little Joey could get around the bases.  Try as he might, Joey, ran with his chest first and head and legs behind him, pumping his little arms and skidding his feet with each step.  We all just held our breath.  “Safe” was the call…. Whew. 

Oh dear, I sighed, it was going to be one of those game where you watched with one eye closed and a silent prayer on your lips. 

With half our kids big and uncoordinated, and the other half small and zippy, we looked like easy Pickens for the Pirates.  They would raid our ship, claim our booty and be off in the sunset before we could say, “Strike three.”  Yikes.  All the parents knew the odds weren’t in our favor.  But, our kids could have cared less.  Through our weekly practices, they had grown in camaraderie.  They liked to talk to each other out in the field and cheer each other on when we were hitting. 

Then something happened.    

It was like something clicked.  We caught ground balls, threw to first and GOT OUTS.   Tyler played 3^rd base, threw to Luca on 1^st and got out after out.  This was a big play that we had been working on in practice.  Another force out came when Tyler scooped up a ground ball, ran and slid into 3^rd, just barely beating the runner.   I couldn’t believe it.  Our defense actually looked better than the opposing teams.’  Our practices were paying off.  They had worked on the little things, like catching, throwing accurately, picking up ground balls, running in a straight line to the bases and not twirling in the outfield.  And it was working. 

Halfway through the game, we were winning 9 to 3, and I could see the other teams’ coaches start to get nervous… and angry.  The next inning, they got 4 runs, but our boys continued onward, like nothing had happened.  We got to the plate and scored three more, winning the game 12 to 10. 

At the end of the game, we commemorated the season with personalized trophies and team photos and our coach congratulated our little team on a winning season! 

Last season, we were easily one of the worst teams in the league and now we had beaten the undefeated Pirates.

I looked at their happy faces in the cold, brisk evening, and each face gleamed in the full harvest moon.  Our beloved Bombers couldn’t have been happier.  They knew they had accomplished something big and had a blast doing it. 

That night, going to bed, I couldn’t stop thinking of our team’s accomplishment.  In a way, my son’s little league is like the big league of life we adults find ourselves playing.  We may have a losing season, but if we work on our weaknesses, stay focused on having fun and making friends, we create a winning atmosphere.  We have to keep plugging along, practicing the basics, waiting for that “something” to click.  I think that “click” has a lot to do with staying positive and working on improving the “small things.” 

Our team didn’t go to the batting cages once.  We practiced the team skills of working together, throwing and catching, and fielding.  In life, sometimes it’s not about the big “at bat” of a job interview or a big presentation at work that wins the game.  It’s the little things like praying with your son before bed, watching his favorite show, “Call of the Wildman,” with him and encouraging his current interest in the book, Moby Dick, that make the difference.  (Yes, Moby Dick..... a tall tale for next time….)     

Rocks of All Ages

It's Friday night, and we're headed to our much anticipated Friday night dinner.  Time to unwind from the week.  In the car, my husband comments that he didn't get much sleep last night.  "I did.  I slept like a rock.  I was so tired."  Tyler pipes up, "Me too."  My husband laments, "Yeah, spring is coming, and I don't know what I'm going to do with you two snoring machines."  I spout off suggestions - Breathe Right strips, antihistamines, nose surgery?  "Yeah, maybe I need surgery too" chirps the backseat.  He takes a long sniff.  I hand back a Kleenex.  "But, dad, I can sleep with mom.  Her snoring doesn't bother me."  Sniff again.   "Yeah, because you two sleep like a couple of rocks." 

Sniff.  The backseat is quiet for a few moments... thinking.  "Yeah, except rocks don't snore."    

The boy has a point. 

Seating in the booth at our favorite Mexican establishment, we discuss names for Tyler's soon to be born baby brother.   

Tyler, as always, is an active participant in the conversation.  We are thinking Trey or Luke for first names.  For the middle name we want a family name and something with meaning.  My husband asks Tyler, "Do you know who your middle name is after?"  He shakes his head.   

"In the Bible, there was a young fourteen year old boy whose name was David from the country Israel.  He was thin and scrawny, but very clever.  One day there was a large man more than 8 feet tall who kept taunting the Israelites.  Do you know what taunting means?" 

Tyler shakes his head.  He is kneeling in the booth, half sitting, half standing, elbows on the table.       

"He was making fun of the Israelites because they were so scared.  He was like a bully.  This giant's name was Goliath.  He had a very large sword and a whole army behind him.   No one from Israel wanted to fight him.  Except David.  David took out his slingshot, found some rocks and faced the giant.  Goliath laughed at how small David was.  David was not scared.  He swung his slingshot with his first rock and hit Goliath right in the forehead.  The giant fell down dead.  And this teenage kid used the big man's own sword to cut off his head.  Do you know why David was so special?" 

Tyler shakes his head.

"He was the great, great, great, great grandfather of Jesus." 

His eyes light up like bulbs in a pinball machine.  

"If David had not been so brave, Jesus might not have been born!  Isn't that amazing?" 

He nods his head.  We can tell the story has definitely had an impact on him. 

"We should definitely not name the new baby Goliath!" 

Yep, the boy has a point. 

Whether it's the sleeping habits of rocks or the rocks in his predecessors' weapon, this little boy certainly knows how to slingshot through to the truth.  

He's funny, yes, but also insightful.  I hope and pray he finds his own rocks to use in life...the stones of truth that you collect along the path of life, and the Rock of our Salvation.  I hope he continues to live up to his name and create his own legacy that generations of his children's children will speak highly of.   

A Little Slice of Heaven

Profound statements often come out of my seven year old's mouth when he's bathing.  He starts floating in the water on his back... his hair spanning out from his head, where the ideas start knocking around like the last 30 seconds of a bag of popcorn in the microwave. 

"Mom, I don't want you to die." 

"Mommy's not going to die for a long time... you don't have to worry about that," I respond, trying to brush past the subject.  How am I going to explain dying and age to a boy who has yet to lose all his teeth. 

"Am I going to die Mom?"  He does not let the subject go.  "Not for an even longer time than mommy bud."  "Besides we're all going to be together in heaven... so you don't have to worry about dying." 

Pop...pop...pop.  The barrage of questions starts filling my son's head.  "Will we have a house like this in heaven?  I like this house... I want everything the same as it is here... Can I be hockey player in heaven?  Is there ice in heaven?  What age are we in heaven?  Is Santa Claus in heaven?  Will our fish be in heaven?" 

I am in no way qualified to answer these questions and frankly do not know the answers to half of them... but, I muddle through... "We don't get old in heaven...heaven is better than here... because it's perfect and you can get everything you want.  And I'm not sure about the fish."

He stares back at me with bubbles on his head... doubtful.  "But, I like everything the way it is here.  I don't want anything to change."  More tears...they are streaming down the bubbles.  

"I don't want you and daddy to die mom.  Is grandmum going to die too?"  I weigh my answer.  He pretty much thinks grandmum is invincible, so I don't want to touch that with a ten foot pole.  Who knows... maybe she will live forever.  

Bath time is a little late this evening, and he's in no frame of mind to excavate the mysteries of the afterlife.  The mysteries are becoming more apparent to me as well... I haven't thought this deeply about death ever...Do I lie to make him feel better?  How do you tell a tired, dripping wet and confused first grader how we're all going to die and live happily ever after in a place called heaven?  More tears. 

"What is making you think about this bud?"  He shrugs..."I just love my life so much," he sniffles.  He doesn't want to lose the people, things, and routines he loves so much.  It's his little slice of heaven.  And he wants no part of the actual whole pie that he knows nothing about.  No way... no how... He likes his bedtime routine, his fish, his letters to Santa that he is still sending him via the Iphone app, and his baths.  Heaven is no comparison.  I try to relay what I think I know about heaven.  "There are streets of gold, mansions, angels."  "God is there.  You get to really be with God!"  Nope... he's just fine with him living in his heart.   

But, he dries off, wipes his tears and changes the subject, leaving me more confused than him.  He got all his questions off his chest and goes back to living in the moment.  I wonder about that slice of heaven.  He's living for today, not a better tomorrow.  I think I'll take a slice.