Tuesday night Martin had his first t-ball game.  This is the first summer where he's old enough to participate in a sport through our town's summer rec program.  As the big night approached, I don't know who was more excited - him or me.  I knew he would love it, and like so many things, it just felt like such a big milestone.

I remember t-ball when I was a kid.  Going down to the sport shop to get my team t-shirt.  Preparing a big jug of water filled with ice so that I could stay well-hydrated during the game.  Having high school boys as our coaches and how they would stay on the edge of the field in that affected teenage boy sort of way.  Standing in right field with my glove over my face to keep the gnats away, hoping that no ball would come my way and wishing that the head of the t-ball program would quit telling me to "look ready".

So on his first big night, I had everything prepared.  We had a little dinner before the game, I checked and double-checked our registration form to make sure we were going to the right place, we arrived on time, and found his name on the roster list, and he picked out the number he wanted on his team shirt.  Lucky 7.


The coaches worked with the kids to teach them the very basics of the game.  They lined the kids up at home plate and told them to run to first.  All the kids took off running, about half heading for first base, others not sure where to go.  Martin ran in a circle around the pitcher's mound then took off for third.  Here he is, triumphant that he got farther than his teammates, feeling smart that he'd figured out a short cut.


The coaches split the kids into two groups to practice fielding ground balls.  Martin stood with his glove grazing the dirt, waiting for the ball to come, chasing after it when it rolled right on by.


He hung out by the back stop, waiting for his turn to bat.  He did great, waiting patiently.  I did great too, restraining myself from saying things like "Good job on waiting for your turn buddy" and "Listen to your coach honey".


Finally it was his turn up at bat.  He stood still with the bat on his shoulder, then swung the bat like an all-star, the ball eluding his bat only three or four times before he connected.


After the practice he told me that he'd had enough practice now and was ready for the big game.  I think I'm ready too.  The lump in my throat has subsided a bit after getting over the "bigness" of this milestone for my firstborn and my mind feels freed up a little after letting those thoughts pass.  Maybe now there will be room to remember things like bringing his glove, and I won't have to ask Marty to run home and find it for him.  Because I wasn't prepared for the part of the milestone where I had to tell Marty that I'd forgotten to bring his glove and Marty looked at me like I was kind of a moron and I muttered a response about how I remembered the snacks.  If I'm not careful, somebody is going to start yelling at me to "look ready" again.