Yeah, that would have been nice.
Instead, here is a post about one of the people who has frustrated and disgusted me at the big kid's baseball games these past few weeks. I'd like to write this as a cathartic letter to the dad of one of the big kid's teammates. Here goes:
Dear Dad-who-doesn't-get-it,
Hello there. It's me, the mom of the kid who's on your son's team. You know, the one who you find the need to constantly give unsolicited 'advice' to, the wife of the guy who told you in no uncertain terms to simply back off. I'm the one who spends her time trying to watch the game while balancing a baby on her hip and chasing after a ridiculously energetic toddler. I'm also the one who has been watching your son very closely during these games. I think I might have a few pointers for you.
I get it. You like baseball. It is obviously very important to you. The thing is... I'm not sure your son shares your level of interest. Yeah, he looks like he has fun joking around with the other kids on the bench-- have you noticed his enjoyment when you repeatedly yell at him to sit down? When it's his turn at bat, are you aware that he sees you each and every time you shake your head at his strikes? You must be, because you yell instructions at him with every pitch. My guess is that he is just swinging that bat way before the ball even comes at him simply to shorten the amount of time he has to stand at home plate.
But, tonight, Clueless Dad, you missed the boat big time. All of your sharp-toned 'directions' pale in comparison to your action tonight. The way-too-obvious disappointment on your face at all previous games ranks nowhere near your stupidity on this evening.
Just in case you forgot, here's how it happened. Your son was up at bat. He was swinging half-heartedly, missing ball after ball, and you were standing at the fence dramatically shaking your head. Then it happened. The ball and the bat made contact. Audible contact, and the ball ricocheted forward. For a split second, your son looked as if he didn't know what to do, but he dropped the bat and booked it to first base. The other parents and I erupted in cheers. It was fantastic. Even with my old-prescription-glasses, I could see the smile on your son's face way across the field.
Then, I'm not exactly sure how the rest of the inning went- remember the baby and toddler are vying for my attention as well- but the time came when the team was coming back to get their gloves and your son ran up to you, absolutely beaming.
"Are you happy I hit the ball, Dad?"
The question was asked so freaking earnestly. The undertone was painstakingly apparent-- did I make you happy?
Do you remember, Dad-who-made-me-nauseous, how you responded?
"Go put the helmet away!"
Yup, those were your words. As I was standing only a few feet away, I could hear and see the scene as clear as day. I saw your son hesitate for a moment before he gave you one more chance at redemption. He stopped and asked you the same exact question one last time.
How did you handle that? Did you realize what your son was asking you, asking of you? Yeah, you see where this is going. You repeated your initial command, in your surly voice, punctuated with a fiercely pointed finger.
Can you picture your son at this point? Did you even take the moment to look at him? If not, I can tell you, as my eyes were glued to him. His head literally dropped and he moved away from you to follow your direction. He knew what to do. You, however, dropped the ball in a major, major way.
I could lecture you on what all the 'experts' say about youth sports. I could try to impress upon you the importance of teaching good sportsmanship, love of the game, personal goals and skill improvement, the whole shebang. I could emphasize the value that you, as a volunteering parent, represent to your son and his teammates. I could do all of this, but I can't say that I'm all that confident it would make any difference. I think you have too much in common with those idiotic 'coaches' of the other team who take this whole thing WAY TOO SERIOUSLY. In my humble, non-sporty-person opinion, you all are way off base in this coaching mentality.
Let me just put in simple, easy to understand terms. You are really bringing me down two nights a week. You are causing actual pains in my stomach. You are making my blood boil, to the point that I have to walk away and find my husband to complain to.
I'm sure none of that matters to you, because let's be honest, you don't know me from any other random baseball mom on the sidelines. So, take me out of the equation, and you're still left with one very important observation. Above all else, you are ruining the game of baseball for your son.
Something tells me that statement carries a lot more weight with you than any of the others. If baseball is as important to you as it appears, on a personal level, on a cultural level, then man, you better get your act together.
I'll leave you with my sincere wish for you to take a step out of your body and watch how the scene plays out at the next game. Watch your son's face, watch him watch you. Really observe what effects your dramatics have on your son's demeanor. Think, for just a moment, of the probable thoughts going on in your son's head. And ask yourself, was this my goal when I filled out that registration form?
Sincerely,
The mom who's really ticked off, but genuinely cares about the welfare of your child.
So, there you have it. Don't get me wrong, I've been having a blast watching the big kid run with a group of new-to-him kids, clapping for other players, and high-fiving his teammates over a good play. It's a whole new arena for him, and for me, and it really makes me think of him as this kid who is growing up. That being said, I really just needed to get this off my chest. Don't even get me started on the 'coaches' of the team we played tonight. Suffice it to say that the intensity of these guys is way disproportionate to the reality of 7 & 8 year old baseball. Someone needs to send them the memo that there are no actual scouts in the bleachers. Chill, dudes. Seriously.I figure that this is only the beginning chapter of my life as a baseball mom, and I am pretty positive that it will not be the last time that I am angered or frustrated by the supposed adults involved with youth sports. But, I felt it had to be said.
I feel a little better now. Catharsis is a good thing.
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