Play Ball!

Looks like I am not the only endurance athlete in the Oz family. Last night, the littlest Ozling played a T-ball doubleheader in the blazing heat. Brutal.

I would rather go for a 10-mile run. Those dudes were tuckered out by the end of the night.

When the first Ozling arrived – nine years ago this coming week -- some of my buddies asked if I was disappointed that I was not having a son. Crazy talk. She was immediately, has been and is a gigantic joy in my life. We’ve had a blast, reading together, camping together, playing sports together, talking and joking together, working on various school projects together and cooking together. Then a couple years later when we were awaiting the arrival of her brother, my buddies resumed their chatter along the lines of, “I’ll bet you are glad you finally are getting a son.” More crazy talk. Frankly, I thought it would have been cool for our Ozlings to know the special bond of sisters. But I really didn’t care. Girl. Boy. Whatever. As long as he or she was healthy, we were blessed.

Emotions triggered by baseball this summer have taken me a bit by surprise.

I enjoy the game, follow the local teams and like to get out to a few games each season. But I can’t claim it as my passion.

Yet, standing in the front yard having a catch with my boy has been amazing. What a difference between last summer, when he was five, and this year. He’s been so focused on how to position the glove just right so he can snag the ball. “Back up!” he implores. “Throw it really, really far.” I do. More often than not….he snares it. And when he throws it? The kid’s got a bit of a gun.

Sometimes I’ll persuade my daughter to join me. She can catch. She can blast the ball with the bat. But she often looks like she is out there to please me. Not because of an inner joy beckoning her to play.

Feeling a ball thrown by my son smack into my mitt. Watching him take a practice swing, then position the bat just right, take a breath and then – as his coach implores, “load and then explode” – boom the ball. Seeing him act like a human vacuum cleaner on first base. Or grinning at him as he begs to bat last so in the everybody-bats-each-inning-T-ball league he can smack the ball and run all the bases with abandon as if he just crushed a grand slam…

It all just…..makes my spirit soar.