Warning: Mom brag ahead. It’s about baseball.
So, munchkin is super obsessed with baseball. He’s been playing since he was five years old; he will be eleven next month. Last spring, his love of baseball shifted into a passion. He decided that, in the fall, he would try out for the next division in his little league: majors. This is the only division that limits the total number of players on teams, and all of the teams already have players, so there are usually only a few spots available. He knew there was a good chance he would not be chosen, but he wanted to try.
In preparation for trying out this fall, he spent three weeks of his summer at camps running drills with hardcore coaches, facing his fears about attending with much older kids whom he’d never met before, and coming home sore and dragging. In late summer, he asked to sign up for Fall Ball, the fall baseball league, so he could stay in good condition before tryouts. Three nights a week, he had to do an hour or more of homework and eat dinner before heading out to night games or practices. He practiced. He got better. And he practiced some more.
On Monday, he packed up his gear and went to majors tryouts. We kept calm about it, but we were both worried he would get nervous, or that he’d just have a bad night; it happens. The majors coaches were all lined up with their clipboards, taking notes on the dozens of kids there to try out; many of the kids are great ball players who will likely get a spot. It was intimidating.
He killed it. Up to bat, the balls were soaring. The coaches all wrote something down on their clipboards. At second base and first base, he was a machine. He caught every ball, knew exactly where to throw it and easily made plays. The coaches wrote something down on their clipboards. His pitching wasn’t great, but better than some, and when the coaches asked if he ever played catcher, he said, “I love to catch.” The coaches smiled and wrote something down on their clipboards.
The head of the league, also a majors coach, asked my girl, “Do you know who that kid is?” She smiled and said, “That’s my son,” and gave him his name. He wrote something down on his clipboard.
Maybe he’ll make it; maybe he won’t. He’s happy, regardless, because all of his efforts paid off and he did great. I’m so proud that he came up with his own goal, developed a strategy to achieve it, and then stuck with it for months, despite other interests and distractions.
They post the team rosters in January. Fingers crossed!
