A Sandstorm of Memories

I never wanted to be one of those parents

who relived their lives through their children.

My children were exposed to my interests and hobbies,

but I never tried to form them into little mini-mes.

I wanted them to choose their sports, their hobbies, their interests.

But, when two of my children picked my favorite sport,

I was thrilled,

I have to admit.

Watching my daughter play catcher last weekend

brought a sandstorm of sandlot memories.

I started playing softball in Helena, Montana, when I was 9 years old.

My older neighbor, Tammy, invited me to play on her team.

She pitched and I caught.

Actually, I'm not sure I caught the ball very many times that first year.

I don't think I ever made it to the pitchers mound when I threw it back, either.

In third grade, I weighed about 40 pounds and was always the shortest in my class.

But, Tammy would patiently pitch on,

always smiling,

never showing her frustration when chasing after my bad tosses,

again and again.

She did finally coach me to step a few paces passed the plate,

to shorten the throwing distance.

Except for an occasional walk, I always struck out,

but she and the older teammates still cheered me on.

I never really knew how terrible I played,

until I got better.

When I played my last year in the Junior League

I was chosen as the first baseman for the All Star Team

and won League MVP, carrying home a large trophy

and a heart full of gratitude.

Even at a young age, I knew I hadn't improved on my own.

My daughter Rebekah, taking after Mom.

In the Helena park league only had a  huge face mask

that  Sarah, the league umpire,

had to adjust to its smallest size each inning I caught.

Even then, it slid down and covered my eyes.

I learned to either hold my head tipped slightly back

or hold the mask up with my right  hand.

It definitely didn't help my inability to catch the ball.

We played in regular clothes, some of us not even having tennis shoes.

We used our dads' and brothers' gloves.

My dad's glove was so old it was flat when I set it on the bench

and was dark brown from years of oiling.

But, I was so proud of it, because it was my Dad's.

There were no uniforms, sometimes not even coaches who showed up.

Because our practices and games were during the day,
parents never came.

It was just about a dozen girls on my team who loved to play softball.

Times have changed.

Rebekah and her teammates wear the full uniform,
down to cleats and the cool elastic belts.
The stands are filled with cheering parents.
The kids get trophies every year just for playing.

The one thing I hope doesn't change,
may she always love the game.

Someday, I hope, a cloud of sandlot dust
brings back a sandstorm of wonderful memories.

BRRRaseBRRall S-S-S-Season

Baseball season has officially started. 

We sat through our first game on Thursday night,

and barely escaped hypothermia.

Sitting on cold metal bleachers from 8 -10pm

proves some serious dedication from parents.

We could see our breath.

I haven't seen my breath more than a few times since we

moved from the North Dakota/Minnesota border.

I don't miss seeing my breath.

I miss seeing my shadow, but not my breath.

As you can tell from my title, our teeth were chattering.

Last year we had a very, very cold season. It rained a lot.

The year before we had a cold, cold season.  It rained a lot.

Come to think of it, every season has been cold and it has rained a lot.

We learned they don't cancel games because of rain.

They only cancel  if the field gets puddles.

It can drizzle for hours and hours before there is

enough accumulated water to cancel a game.

We learned umbrellas, blankets and handwarmers aren't enough.

A propane heater is on our shopping list for this season.

 

We've leaned baseball season is more than just

freezing while you watch your kid.

It's watching your kid get beaned by a baseball,

sometimes more than once in a game.

We've learned that baseball is sitting in the stands with your family,

(click on link to watch a video of my adorable granddaughter cheering)

eating some healthy and not-so-healthy snacks,

and trying to cheer respectfully, even when you don't like a call.

I've learned important life lessons while watching the umpire.

Last year, Rebekah joined softball. 

I can't believe I didn't blog about it. 

She plays first base and catcher, just like I did as a girl.

I am thrilled my kids chose to play my favorite sport.

It makes it a lot easier to sit on those cold, hard, metal bleachers

because baseball season is really, really cold, and it rains a lot.