Child's play

I told my husband years ago that we could watch as much baseball on television as he wanted and I would never complain, as long as we didn’t have to watch football. Of course there are special OU-casions and the Super Bowl-which let’s face it, is all about the commercials anyway. But for the most part, football, in my opinion, is a beast that’s best left outside for neighborhood kids in backyards and family gatherings on the holidays.

So, when April rolls around and until the cool months of October, when folks ask me if I’ve seen the latest episode of this or the season premiere of that, I just smile and say, “No. But did you see that walk off homer the Yankees hit last night?”

I can’t imagine that two little boys would be satisfied with watching a three and a half hour baseball game when they know there is a brand new episode of “Thomas the Train” on the kid channel. But our boys seem fine with it. In fact last night, after a big Yankee win, Cooper picked up the remote as if he actually knew how to use it, and said, “Hey Momma, I’m gonna find another ball game to watch.”

Brisco’s not far behind. He knows he’s watching a ballgame, and he laughs and points and claps his hands. He gets his bat out and swings a few times, and then tosses it in the back of his school bus and gives it a ride up and down the hall.

Cooper is big enough to sit still and take in every pitch, although I have to admit he doesn’t quite have a firm grasp on the strategy. He tries his best to follow, asking questions when he doesn’t understand, and adding his own whoops and hollers when it feels appropriate. It’s not unusual to hear him shout, “Get a score!” or “Strike him out!” at any given moment in the game, regardless of who is playing defense or who is running the bases. And you can bet if someone hits a homer he will point and shout, “He hit a bong!”

Last night was a big win for our team. The boys and I were sitting on the edge of our fuzzy, Thomas, lounge chairs, hanging on to every pitch, and wailing at the umpire when he didn’t call it our way. They were really getting into it.

The game was finally over after the ace and closing pitcher walked the bases loaded, only to get the final out at the plate with a top of the 9th strike out for a Yankee win. It was high drama; nail biting at its finest. And when the game was over, the boys and I celebrated big with a glass of cold milk. The only thing missing was Dad.

As I looked out the back window to see my husband spending yet another late night on the ball field with his team, I longed for the days when I could go help shag balls or just sit back, relax, and spit sunflower seeds while watching him share his knowledge and talent and passion for what some know only as a game intended for children.

I felt a twinge of sadness that our favorite ball club had pulled out a big win, and he wasn’t here to enjoy it with us. Then I looked over and saw our boys: sitting side by side, cross legged, eyes glued to the television watching with what appeared to be true interest and listening intently to the post game interview with the winning pitcher. Those boys were taking it all in-the crowd, the field, the fireworks. I could see in them that spark that must have been in their daddy’s eyes when he was a boy just their age.

Suddenly, I wasn’t sad anymore. I was thankful that I had been there to share in that evening of “child’s play” with my boys. I know the outcome of the ball game was probably a meaningless victory to most, and yes, probably even to the boys. But what could never have been more monumental was witnessing that moment of connectedness between a father’s passion, and its effect on his two sons-boys who will someday share the drive and the love for this same child’s game that has shaped their father’s life. A game that when taught correctly, and accepted willingly, will help fashion them, also, into admirable young men.

And that’s All in a day’s work!