Opening Day Memories

Major League Baseball’s Opening Day has all the excitement a new season brings; it’s a fresh beginning, filled with bright hopes. It’s time to believe again. It also reminds me of when my son was little and even though I didn’t see it at the time, as my son was growing up, so was I.

It all started on a side field adjacent to the big kid’s ballpark. As the T-ball stand stood at attention, a dozen excited children attempted to focus on running around the bases in the right direction. Yearly progress brought better skills and higher hopes. A new season meant a chance to prove it again.

Just like boys his age everywhere, Tommy had his favorite MLB idol. Emulating his batting stance, he’d hit hundreds of rocks into the water with a driftwood bat.  Each year he’d practice harder, longer, and get better. Games were won and lost. There were incredible highs and the inevitable lows.

Much like life, baseball isn’t perfect. Both share bad calls, tough luck and favoritism, yet baseball shaped my son’s life and simultaneously shaped mine too. If he could be committed, work hard and play fair, so could I. If baseball gave him enough grief to consider quitting but he stuck to it, then how could I quit things in my own world?

Life lessons were learned on the field. One player could not take all the credit or all the blame in a game, yet in my life, I was quick to take credit and often pointed fingers at others when things didn’t go as planned.


 Tommy spent most of his “career” on his knees as a catcher--no time to rest, no time to daydream, and no time to blink. It had to be exhausting, but if Tommy was learning not to make excuses, what excuse did I have for making my own?

While the catcher doesn’t have comfortable position, the perspective allows him to see the whole game. Sometimes life has me on my knees too. I’ve discovered it’s not a bad place to be if you’re looking for God’s help.
Years have passed and my baseball-loving son has moved on and so have I.  But as Opening Day comes again, those memories come back and remind me that each new season is an opportunity to begin again. Be committed, work hard, play fair. It won’t be a perfect season; it never is, but I’m going to step up to the plate and play ball!


A new generation

(And just in case I need to relearn those lessons, my grandson is now in T-Ball.)

Popular posts from this blog

Counting the Cost

Image
Something big is missing in this photo. Let me explain. Here in my hometown, the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe prepared a parcel of land for a new hotel. Plenty of planning and architectural designs were evaluated. A gemstone of a hotel would be built across from the waterfront—a beautiful, restful place welcoming travelers. A true four-star facility.   They cleared the aging brick structures that had been fading away between Front Street and Railroad Avenue. Then the pandemic hit, shortages of labor and supplies, add in the costly inflation that followed. Everything stopped.   But this is what I admire about the Elwha Tribe: they have counted the cost. They didn’t want to move forward and take on tremendous debt. They would rather move slowly and be financially ready, rather than begin building and then letting it sit unfinished.   Counting the cost is something I should have done earlier in life when I didn’t know what high interest rates would do to our farming cost...
Read more

Summertime Music

Image
During the summer months, in an outside seating area, a delightfully painted piano sits with a sign that says, “Play me”.   It was just before 8 pm as I walked past the piano. My bus would be arriving soon, and I still have another ten minutes to walk before reaching my bus stop. But no one is around. It’s a beautiful warm evening. I pulled out the piano bench and sat down. The sun was behind me, and the piano keys reflected its glow. I had no music in front of me, only the songs within me. Notes drifted into the air.  In those brief moments, the magic of music and summer came together. Isn’t that how it is? Summertime music has a way of lingering in our minds and lasting a lifetime. As I stood and grabbed my things, I heard distant clapping—I guess I wasn’t alone, after all.
Read more

Planting Good Seeds

Image
Harvest will always depend on what we plant and how well we care for our crop.    Looking over my seed packets, I notice they’re different than the ones I planted before. One package is called Word seeds. The directions say that each of my words is a seed, so it cautions me to think before I speak. Harsh words don’t produce sweet, nourishing fruit. These seeds will require thoughtful care in the garden. I see some Volunteer seeds. Those extra hours I tend to fritter away are going to be planted in a useful project.   It looks like time isn’t wasted in this garden plot. Next are some Love seeds—the directions are interesting: get up each day and love others. No specifics are given—just do something for someone every day. The seed package shows pictures of smiling faces. I smile back. As I’m ready to head to the garden with my seeds, a package falls to the ground. I open it. Inside are the tiniest seeds I’ve ever seen—but the directions s...
Read more