My son hit is first homerun. No, he didn’t wack it out of the park. It was an inside-the-field homerun that was one for the record books.

Between you and me, my son is not the greatest baseball player. His swing is a little awkward and he kinda runs like a llama – head high, strides that resemble a prance, and not sure what to do with the arms. Still, he’s enthusiastic. He would be a shoe-in for the MVR award (Most Valuable Rooter!)

So indulge me as I set the scene. We are down by two runs with two outs. It’s the last inning and my son is up to bat. I immediately feel like throwing up as I watch him do a few practice swings. First pitch…. SWING! Strike One! Second pitch….SWING! Strike Two! Third pitch…. SWING! CONTACT! Foul Ball! In this league, they get another chance if they hit a foul. Still, this was going to be it. No matter what the pitch looked like, he needed to swing. I can’t watch. I cover my eyes, barely peeking through my fingers. Final pitch…SWING! WACK! The ball flies right towards the pitcher. He reaches up and mercifully, the ball bounces out of his glove. He quickly recovers and throws to first. Overthrown! Colt keeps running. With his awkard gait, the coach motions him on to second. Right Fielder recovers the ball and throws towards second. Another miss! The second baseman scrambles to find the ball. Although the coach told Colt to stay-put, he either didn’t get the signal or choose to ignore it. He made a run towards third. The ball is tossed to the third baseman and flies between his legs to left field. Once the ball is recovered, it is thrown to the pitcher who races Colt to home plate. Knowing he couldn’t out run him, Colt slides will all of his might and the ref yells SAFE!

I, of course go ballistic! When it is all said and done, I have actually climbed on the back stop and am clinging to it like one of those stuffed Garfield’s that use to be on car windows. I finally get enough composure to climb down and race to the dug out screaming and hollering at his success. Colt takes in stride. He smiles a little – his dimple clearly visible, and says to me, “Mom, you’re embarrassing me.” I run back to the bleachers and welcome the high-fives from the other parents who join me in my celebration.

I can honestly say, I love baseball. Before my son started playing, watching baseball was like watching paint dry. I hated it and never understood “the love of the game”. My son will likely never make it in baseball. Hell, he probably won’t get past coach pitch. Still, I can say with certainty that I have fallen in love with baseball and hope that it will remain a part of our lives long after Colt decides to hang up his glove.

Baseball, it is said, is only a game.  True.  And the Grand Canyon is only a hole in Arizona.  ~George F. Will, Men at Work: The Craft of Baseball, 1990

There are three things in my life which I really love:  God, my family, and baseball.  The only problem – once baseball season starts, I change the order around a bit.  ~Al Gallagher, 1971