With the spring season, comes the start of another sport. Another takeover of the tv in our home. Yet this year our boys are finally able to start playing in organized sports. Its exciting to me to get him in a uniform, make new friends, and cheer him on. The idea of it thrills me as a Mom.
All the parents were busy snapping pictures at precise moments. First time up at bat, first time running to base, or group photo. Then as the game began, my son was first at bat. He hits the ball off the tee, runs to third, while his hat flies of his head. He runs back to retrieve it then heads back to third base even though everyone is yelling "Go the other way!" Hysterical moment & happy that hubby was able to capture that on our video camera.
After the 2nd inning, my thrill was dying down as my back ached from standing. The dust blowing in our eyes. Then the kids start crying because they haven't caught the ball. Little by little, some of the kids run off the field to bury their tears in the parents including my son. "There's no crying in baseball" mimics in my head as I recall Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own. Is this what I will have to endure for the next 8 weeks? I don't know if I thought this whole sports thing through.
But the look of joy on my son's face as his game finished was priceless. He asked who won and we said it was a tie. He was happy with that. "I hit the ball a lot of times, Mom" he said. "Yes you did and you were great at it" I replied.
With that I will be back every Sunday for the next 8 weeks as the biggest cheerleader for the East Harlem Rays. Call me a soccer mom