One, Two, Three Strikes; You're Out

I've been to theT-Ball game and I have to say, I love it. Probably more than soccer. I'm not speaking for Jack and Tom. T-Ball is more difficult, slower to grasp; you are alone there in the outfield. Time drags at some of the positions. Catching and throwing are a challenge. There are so many rules and positions to learn. Gloves, and bats, and balls to keep up with.

This was a perfectly beautiful morning. Cool, bright, and sunny. The Mets were behind (their second loss of the season), but played a wonderful, smart game of ball. The best ever! It was those three consecutive outs they suffered in the first inning that sealed the loss. There just wasn't any catching up. 

I was sitting on the bleacher watching Corey coach and Beth call the batting line-up. Tom was on first and Jack was in the batter's box. Wham. Line drive. I love it when one boy hits and his brother advances! The crowd of parents and grands were shouting encouragement. "Good job!" "Nice hit!" "Way to Hustle!"

"Remember this," A voice in my head whispered, "Take note."

 I took a mental snapshot of that point in time and stuck that in the computer file in my brain marked "Priceless Moments." 

A song kept running through my head. I stuck that in the memory bank as well. "Let me root, root, root for the home team. If they don't win, it's a shame..."

Winning, of course, is important. Me? I never keep score. Let some of the T-Ball moms do that. I have this strange idea that every one of the kids on both teams is a winner, but that the biggest winner is me.