To John –
I watched you walk off the baseball field today for what could be the last time, and I flashed back to the first time I saw you walk off the field. You were full of smiles and just wanted to play more. You were seven and baseball was “new.” Tonight, you are 17, and baseball is “old.” Back when you first started, your Dad and I swore that competitive baseball and all that travel was a ridiculous waste of money. We thought “those” families were crazy, but that thinking only lasted until the day it became apparent that you were too talented for recreation baseball.
Your first competitive team was hard on you. Oh, you loved the Withrow Electric Shockers, but you were only nine, and we did not understand the age requirements of baseball back then. You were playing up, and you were just too young at the time. Then, came the Mid-MO Stars and you played there for five years. The team had a lot of success, but the growth in you as a player is what I remember most. You hit home runs, you made diving catches, you got out of a pickle, you stole home, and you threw runners out at home from the outfield. The Stars won a lot of tournament championships. You have trophies, medals, and rings. All those things were exciting, but you grew the most as a player when you failed. Somewhere around the age of 12, you learned to walk off the field after a bad day and forget it. Usually, by the time we made it to the car, you were wondering if “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives” was on Food Network, so you could watch it at the hotel – the bad day already forgotten.
Then, came freshman baseball at Hickman High School, and that taught you a lot about what you wanted and did not want. It changed how you felt about competitive baseball, and the following summer you made the decision to stop playing on the Mid-MO Stars. Your Dad and I fully understood your decision and we were proud of you for making it. However, I must admit that I was sad because I thought that was the end for you. As it turns out, taking the rest of that summer off cured the burnout and made you realize that you missed baseball. Enter the USA Prime. The team did not win all that much, but you actually did not care. You were having fun with your friends and enjoying baseball again. For the first time in two years, I did not have to argue with you to go to practice or to tournaments. You actually wanted to go. It was a fun, summer season where I saw that excited seven-year old return.
And, that brings us to now. You played this summer with the St. Louis Tigers and two of your friends from Columbia. You have literally torn up the baseball field at both the plate and in the outfield. For a while, you had more doubles than singles, and we even got to watch you hit two dingers with a wood bat! Of course, it was someone else’s wood bat because you always seemed to find a reason to use someone else’s bat. Watching you lead the outfield when you played center field was quite a sight to see. You have always been the kid that never wanted to lead, but, yet, there you were doing your job as the center fielder. You played so well that you made the league All-Star game as the starting left fielder and even garnered second place in the MVP voting despite telling me twice how much you “suck” at baseball and how you cannot hit or field anything. If this is what “suck” looks like to you, it would be interesting to see what “good” looks like.
There is a quote by Juliana Hatfield that I love. She said, “Baseball is more than a game. It’s like life played out on a field.” Baseball is life played out on a field, and it taught you more about parts of life than I ever could have. So, if you choose not to play next summer and baseball is over for you, it is okay. You are going out on your own terms, and I cannot ask for more than that. Just know that I am proud of you and I have loved watching you play all these years. It has been an honor and a privilege to be your baseball mom.
Love, Mom
