This evening John and I watched Owen's baseball game together and as we were sitting there, the junior varsity boys began to gather for their game to be played after ours. They sat below us in the stands and in between watching the game....which was riveting with a score of 12-2 Neville....I became intrigued by their behavior. They weren't misbehaving....just being boys. Boys being boys....not easily described in words but when the phrase is uttered, people nod knowingly. I heard them discussing some teachers and some classmates and watched them watch a couple of girls walk by. They quickly and efficiently noticed any and all girls.
Some of the faces I recognized as little boys Owen played baseball with from years past, and it made me nostalgic for the days of baby faced boys. You know the ones....they smile and play "cut ball" and when they get really hot and sweaty, run into their mother's arms for a salty kiss and a hug. Those little boys have been replaced by teenagers with swagger, a face full of whiskers and car keys hanging out of their pockets. Now they talk about baseball like it's serious business and holler at Mom to get them a drink from the concession stand. These ballpark boys are taller than their parents and may or may not sneak a wave to Mom if she calls their name. Little boys belong to someone else now.
By the time Owen came up to bat, there were about 20 older boys watching the game and I was nervous for him in front of that audience. Batting in front of all those older guys would have made me weak in the knees. As Owen was walking up to the plate I heard one of them ask who he was. I was in one of those rare situations where these boys didn't know whose Mama was sitting there listening to them talk about her boy. I was waiting to hear what would be said. As I was praying to Jesus above for Owen to get a good hit I heard him say, Let's go Herrock, hit the ball baby." Melted my heart and made me want to give him a hug.
It's funny that ballpark boys call each other baby. They consider it completely appropriate in that setting. And they love a fist bump. Well, Owen fouled one pitch off, then walked. I really wanted a homer.
And that's my story for today.
The ballpark boys are growing up.
Brings a tear.
3 comments:
brings a big tear - loved the story and I want them stop growing but grow grandly...all at the same time.
I'm so emotional!!! Very sweet...
I obviously don't know how it feels to have a son play ball, but I do know the feeling from a sister's perspective. My brother's senior year, he and another senior (someone he'd been ballpark buddies with for nearly a decade) led the team to the finals. They lost in the quarterfinals. He played first base. I cried from the stands as I watched him take off his glove and his hat as he sat on the base not wanting to leave the field for what would be his final time. Now I cheer him on in a different way. There will always be a place in my heart for ballpark boys. And for the men they will inevitably become.
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