Startin' 'Em Young

Here's my little #7--Mickey Mantle Marsh, we call her.

Rebecca's t-ball games are nearly over. She's enjoyed it, but perhaps I have enjoyed it more. Baseball is God's game, I am sure of it. And indoctrinating my children on this early and often is required. Fortunately, I have a partner who shares my love. I take full credit for our shared obsession--he wasn't a baseball fan until we met. He's a full-fledged convert.

In this league, the coach pitches three balls to each batter. If they can't hit the pitched balls, they are allowed to hit off the tee. A good transition, I think. 4-6-year-old t-ball is hilarious. When the ball is hit, the children flock to the ball at once, piling on top of one another, soemtimes even elbowing teammates to get to the ball. This phenomenon was highlighted when a child from the other team hit a foul ball that grazed the side of my head as I sat on the sidelines. As a looked up, unhurt but a little dazed from the impact, I saw a sea of tiny blue people running full-force toward me--a little Avatar moment--trying to capture the ball, which was far behind the bleachers at this point and more than a little out of play. Didn't matter that this was an unplayable ball, that the batter was still at homeplate--those kids were gonna get that ball no matter what! Hilarious.






They are so sweet as they stand in the field, distracted by, well, everything--a bird or plane overhead, a piece of their own hair blowing in the wind, bugs, flowers, a younger sibling or parent moving on the sidelines. One kid on the opposing team last week was running to home and, following the chalklines on the grass, ran in a semicircle before touching the base.



Hopefully, this will lead to a lifetime love of the best game ever played. Otherwise, we'll have to kick her off our team.