It was his first practice in Texas. He had been an all-star playing in our small town in MD, but this was a bigger league and a different state. Would it be different? Would it be the same? It took him just a few minutes to settle in and he was hitting the leather off the ball and throwing strikes across home plate. He was made for this game and that hadn't changed even though we were 1300 miles away from the mound he was used to occupying.
"Mom, can you hold my glove?" I am snapped back to the present and my blonde haired ball player drops his glove in front of me as he chases his teammate. This is his first baseball game ever. He prefers markers and paper to sunflower seeds and Gatorade. He is more sensitive than athletic, more creative than competitive, but he has loved the time he has spent with his Daddy at practice even if he spends his time in the outfield instead of on the mound.
He gets to at bats and strikes out both times. No balls are hit to right field and he sits on the bench for two innings. But, it doesn't matter because he gets to have cookies and a Capri Sun at the end of it and even though I don't think we'll make it to the playoffs, I am so thankful to be here, in the dugout, keeping score.
Just like I did 12 years ago.
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