Field of (Foggy) Dreams

Hitting in the fog--If you look closely you can see the blur of the pitch as it speeds toward the batter.

R. had another baseball game last night.  Even though I feel like Spring is right around the corner, last night's game was anything but Spring-like.  It was cold (54 degrees at the field in Dana Point) and damp.  You could literally see the fog and mist rolling in from the ocean less than a mile away.

Despite the fact that I was in a long-sleeved dress shirt, I was cold and I actually grabbed my spare jacket out of the trunk of the car.  I tried to send several texts, but my fingers were numb from the cold, damp coastal air.  My thoughts on Little League baseball are too complex and conflicted for this post.  But if my own kids weren't playing, there's no way that I'd ever spend more than 2 minutes at the ball field.

As miserable and physically uncomfortable as I was, R. was even worse.  R. is 11 years old, but has really only played about 2 years of baseball in the past 4.  He has a lot less experience than the other boys.  The coach told us that when they pick teams at practice, R. is always picked last.  When I got to the game, I checked the line-up card.  Sure enough, R. was in his usual position--batting last (signifying that he is the worst hitter on the team).  R. got up to bat 3 times tonight.  He struck out every single time.

Normally I love the fog, but this fog held a more somber feel to it.

On defense, R. only plays in the field about every other inning because he really hasn't mastered a position on defense.  I realized at one point that he was shivering because his uniform wasn't warm enough for the cold.  I took off my jacket and gave it to him.

As a parent, I could sense his frustration and disappointment mount as the game went on.  I know that tonight's game was anything but fun for him.

I don't care whether the team wins or loses, but I want R. to be able to experience some success and to have fun.  Is that too much to ask?  As a dad, I feel like a failure.  Little League was always fun for me.  I had good friends and teammates, made all-star teams, and liked playing.  I'll never forget hitting a home run over the fence for the first time when I was about 12 years old.  It was a play-off game and I was the lead-off hitter in the game.  We won 1-0.

While some of my teammates went on to play in college and the minor leagues, I stopped playing baseball when I reached high school because my passion was stronger for other sports.  I've never regretted the decision to hang up my cleats, but I'm glad that I played.

I want R. to be able to have those same experiences, but it is just not possible to "download" my baseball experiences into R.  Instead, I am trying to be supportive, positive, and encouraging.  Two years ago, R. told me that his dream was to be a professional baseball player.  I'm sure his "dream" tonight would be to quit.  But I'm not in the business of raising quitters.  And even if R. never plays another inning after this season, I want him to feel like he gave it his best shot.

If you build it, they will come...

I don't have any answers for R. or for the questions and concerns that I have running through my head.  When we got home, I suggested that R. and I watch a movie together.  I wanted to cheer him up and that seemed to work.  At bedtime, he asked for me to come in and read to him.  I did, even though I probably should have been braving the cold and fog to put in some mileage in preparation for Oceanside.  I guess I feel like being a dad is more important than getting in my own workout.

I'm grateful for R.'s coaches and his teammates who have been patient and supportive.  The other parents have also been incredibly nice, even though I really don't even know their names yet.  It is a little humbling to see strangers who are willing to help your child.  And I hope that I am reminded of this the next time I have the opportunity to pay it forward by coaching or cheering for a team.

R. may never make the Olympic baseball team, but I'm okay with that.  We all have challenges in life.  But the important thing may well be how we choose to respond to those challenges.  As a kid, my mom made us memorize this poem.  I can still recite it to this day:

Stick to your task till it sticks to you; 

Beginners are many, but enders are few. 

Honour, power, place, and praise 

Will come, in time, to the one who stays. 

Stick to your task till it stick to you;

Bend at it, sweat at it, smile at it too; 

For out of the bend and the sweat and the smile 

Will come life's victories, after awhile. 

-Anonymous 

Ralph Waldo Emerson (and President Heber J. Grant) said: "That which we persist in doing becomes easier to do, not that the nature of the thing has changed, but our power to do so is increased.”  Even if R. doesn't get a single hit the entire season, is it too "touchy-feely" to think that R.'s season will be successful if he learns the power of persistence?  As R.'s dad, my job is to try and teach him these types of lessons.

That doesn't necessarily make the current situation any easier for me though.  This experience is making me think that sometimes the toughest challenges in life may be the challenges that we witness our loved ones struggle to overcome.

So while I struggle to help R. improve his baseball skills and learn persistence, I have some areas of my own life in which I can experience growth--including having more patience and kindness.  And even if things seemed a little foggy last night, I can still hope that R. will achieve his dreams as the fog lifts and disperses--whether those dreams involve the baseball field or another worthy goal.