Christopher is currently playing baseball in a peewee baseball league and, when it comes to the game, he only has one interest: hitting the ball as hard and far as a five year old possibly can.
Well, last night as he was walking up to hit the ball, he made eye contact with me through the chain link fence. He pointed at me, smiled, and said, “I’m going to hit this one for you mama.” It was, hands down, the best thing anyone has ever said to me, ever.
He swung that bat as hard as any bat has ever been swung. Nothing.
He tried again. Missed.
He was pissed, but tried again. Foul ball.
Since they are five, his Coach (Johnny) just let him run to first base.
He had the same luck for his next few times up to bat. Missed balls, foul balls, tiny hits. His last time up to bat, he hit it hard and he hit it far – but I could tell he was still not happy.
After the game, he melted down. Sobbing screams of, “I hate my daddy’s pitching” and “I hate my mommy.” It was all very embarrassing and very irrational.
He was still crying when we got home, but I made him shower (while in the outfield, I as he put rocks into his hat then put his hat on). I waited in the hallway while he showered and overheard him mumbling to himself: “I’m stupid, stupid, stupid. I couldn’t even hit it over the fence for my mommy.”
I went from anger at the screaming fit to a melting heart…
As I was helping him into his jammies, I explained that he is NOT stupid and that he probably won’t hit it over the fence until he’s at least 13, giving him eight years to practice. “Eight YEARS?!” he wailed, breaking down in tears again.
We quickly tucked him into bed, I was done with the tears.
Some baseball pictures: