I bought a baseball glove today. It’s the first glove I’ve owned since the one I got shortly after I won the Cystic Fibrosis Bike-a-Thon and a $50 gift certificate to B&S Sporting Goods in Anniston.
That was October 11, 1980. We had hostages in Iran. There had not yet been a space shuttle mission. “Another One Bites the Dust” was #1. Good while back.
I know it’s hard to believe looking at my svelte, Adonis-like physique today, but I wasn’t a terribly athletic child. I played some kickball and some backyard football, and I ran around in the woods and rode my bike like any kid, but I didn’t play any organized sports. My dad would toss the football with me, but he didn’t even watch baseball on TV, much less play catch at family reunions or anything.
So I’m not sure what possessed me to get a baseball bat, a glove, and a couple of balls with that gift certificate, but that’s what I did. (I got a couple of shirts, too. $50 was a lot more money 28 years ago.) As I line up other events in my life, I see that October 1980 would have been about two months into the fifth grade, which meant I was in my first year at Sacred Heart, which meant I was playing some softball in PE. Maybe that was it.
I remember that glove well. It was a Hutch, and the outside of it was that awful shiny pleathery stuff. I wrote my name on it with Mom’s blue el Marko permanent marker (remember those?), and might have caught 200 balls with it. I never really broke it in.
Worse, I never knew there was such a thing as a left-handed glove. So the way I learned to play was to catch the ball, pull my glove off as quickly as I could, throw, and put my glove back on as quickly as I could. Kid gets pretty good at that, really, however obviously inferior it is.
So why did I buy a glove today? Well, Nathan’s playing ball this year. He’s been to three practices so far. His first game is next week. Watch for photos.
Dad and I took Nathan the Saturday before Easter to get his bat, glove, and helmet, so I’d already received my awakening into the 2008 world of baseball equipment prices. Ouch. And hey, why are these bats chained onto the rack? Wait—this child’s baseball bat is $229? (By the way, this is another example of the sort of validation supporting my view that the economy isn’t in real trouble. And no, Nathan’s didn’t cost nearly that much.)
I looked for a left-handed glove for myself at Dick’s that day, and couldn’t get my hand into either of the adult ones they had. So I kicked it down my schedule a time or two, and finally Carey and I went to Hibbett’s today to look. He was looking for lunch plans, and serendipitously he played ball for half his life, so I was pleased to have the expertise along.
Now, having already received my awakening, I knew I wasn’t getting out for $20 or something. Whatever else these days are, they’re far removed from the day when a 9-year-old with Bike-a-Thon afterglow took a $50 gift certificate into B&S. So, let’s survey the wall of gloves…wait, there on the far end, I see the sign “Left-Handed Gloves.” It’s perhaps 5% of the area. At least it won’t take long.
There’s one glove in the place that works. It’s a Mizuno. It’s “pre-broken-in.” Looks good, too. It’s black. Black is bad-ass. And the bad-ass black left-handed “pre-broken-in” Mizuno glove that fits is exactly $100.
And Carey starts babbling about “you know, this is probably the only glove you’ll ever buy, and amortize it over the rest of your life, and…” that’s about where I stopped listening. I’d already decided the problem was solved. I asked Carey to examine it for defects (because the bottom line is that I wouldn’t have any idea what the hell to look for), and when he found none, I bought it and we left.
I said a little prayer and thanked God for success sufficient to be able to make such a decision with such an amount of money. (Didn’t take me long to come up with it; it’s about the same thing I think/say every time I fill up the truck.)
So now I’m equipped, at least as far as gear is concerned, for catch in the backyard and for Nathan’s practices. Incidentally, when I got home from work today, Lea was practicing with Nathan. She found herself a glove at Target for $30, and she swears they had more than one left-hander there, too. But I think I won’t look. I already cut the tags off, for one thing. Plus, mine is black. Black is bad-ass.
Yeah. So.
Saturday before last they actually asked me to help at practice. “Throw those kids some grounders,” Jim said. Now that’s the most natural thing in the world to say to a baseball parent, but, ah, I did chess team and Scholar’s Bowl. “Okeydoke,” I replied, trying my damnedest to conceal my terror. I tried to trot nonchalantly onto the diamond. I’m sure I was pale.
I eventually became serviceable at getting grounders to the three kids in my charge, though I’m pretty sure I throw like a girl, and even a six-year-old kid can put enough hum on the ball to make it uncomfortable to catch with bare hands—a lesson reinforced by later practicing in the backyard with Nathan.
So here I am. Now I have a glove, but the reality is that my 6-year-old is already better at playing catch than I am. Moreover, I’m trying to unlearn my bad habit of my childhood (using a right-handed glove and pulling it off to throw), so there’s an extra layer to navigate.
Nevertheless, I’ll get there. Practicing with Nathan will help. I told Carey I might want to play catch at lunch at work, and he was all over that. That will help too. If it comes to it, I may just go to a batting cage and use it to practice catching. (Can you dial the speed down low enough to simulate a throw from the outfield?)
For some aspects of fatherhood, I feel eminently prepared, and able to do a good job. On this, my current status is “dork.”
Commence de-dorking.
You might also like:
- Alabama vs. the Yellow Jackets
Nathan has largely moved to “real” Lego bricks, but he still dabbles in the Duplo from time to time…. - I don’t like Easter egg hunts
I didn’t like them as a child, and I don’t like them as a father. I think up to 4 or 5 years old—you… - Cruel, insensitive coach cuts legless pitcher from high school baseball team
As much as I complain about it, sometimes I’m guilty of standing around waiting to be offended. That… - "Next time we play chess, don’t take my queen."
Just received this request from my almost-5-year-old, who is now asking me to promise him. I am refu… - Coach Bo
Last week Nathan’s Upward basketball coach sent Lea and me email with the subject Special Request. S…
If you want to practice throwing and catching by yourself, please DO NOT go into a batting cage to do it. Mkay? You can borrow our pitchback instead. Or, drive Lea up the wall by bouncing them off the side of the house.
Well, it’s a brick house. (And it’s mighty mighty, and it’s lettin’ it all hang out.) I’d think it’d be pretty hard on a baseball.
It’ll be all good. Carey will be patient with me. And now that Lea has a glove, she can play too.
*Snort* It IS a brick house. You could always toss the ball to the roof and wait for it to roll back atcha.
I think my husband is a little disappointed that the girls aren’t interested in organized sports (now. That’s not to say they won’t be later). He got himself a glove not too long ago (and yes, he spent almost exactly 100 bucks on a left-hander, too). He plays catch with a friend from work.
We were watching the Soxs last night and he told me that “we need to get a wiffle ball set this year.” The girls decided last summer that badminton was fun, and he’s hoping we can get a couple of pick-up games of wiffle ball going. So much the better if we can get Bowywer, Tonks and the boys in on it, too.
You want my honest opinion? Dorky or not, you’re a far better dad than most. FAR better.
Oh, and for the LOVE of Pete – do NOT try to catch batting cage balls. You’ll get thrown out of the place – if you don’t get seriously hurt first.
Happy Birthday! After you read Chili’s birthday post this next sentence will make sense. You’re very lucky she made it to the post office when she did. She resents being charged postage, it’s one of her things, which I don’t share but totally get.
Many happy returns of the day.
Awesome!! Black Mizuno!
Thanks, Mrs. Chili. I try.
Hi, Kizz! Thank you for the wishes.
Charles, I’m pleased you approve. Perhaps playing catch is in our future, as well.
Consider yourself one lucky dude. Playing catch with your kid in the back yard is one of the greatest pleasures a dad can have. Encourage your young players and have fun with them. This will be a time you will both always cherish. I know I do.
Some time ago someone sent me this. It should be sent to every parent:
TIPS FROM THE COACH
No one ever says “Gee, Margo, little Bubba is old enough, lets git him on a baseball team, make complete jerks of ourselves and drive some coach crazy!”,but it happens. The wise coach understands that he is not just teaching boys to play baseball but is shepherding a group of families through the baseball experience. I lay out a list of do’s and don’t a coach should communicate to the parents.
1.DO Get your son to practice and games on time or arrange transportation. I am not a taxi service.
2.When practice is over, take him home. I am not a baby sitter. (I once had a mother enroll in night school figuring that I’d watch her little darling every day after practice until she could pick him up!) The coach can’t leave any player at the field after practice so that parent that shows up 15 minutes late is not to be tolerated.
3.DO get involved. I need help.
4.DO encourage your son to do his home training. This is just like homework and the parent needs to get involved and cherish the experience. This is important as it makes couch potato Dads get off their butts and share this precious time with their sons.
5.DON’T pressure your son to succeed in the games. This experience is about the journey not the destination. It is probably not a good idea to go over his every mistake in last night’s game over breakfast.
6.DO cheer for the team.
7. DON’T cheer against the opposition. In fact, if they make a good play applaud.
8.DON’T yell at the umpires. That is insulting to the coach and indicates that you think he won’t look out for the best interest of the team. Yelling, “ Come on Blue” will not result in more favorable calls.
9. DON’T coach from the stands. Is there anything worse than some Mom who knows nothing about baseball yelling little coaching catch phrases at her son while he tries to hit like, “get your elbow up”? I have no problem going over to the backstop and calling the Mom out and telling her to be quiet.
10.DON’T come to me with your ideas about the lineup or playing time. This is probably the most important DON’T. It allows the coach to tell the parent/agent when he comes up to inform the coach that he thinks his son should be the shortstop, “What part of, we are not going to have this conversation did you not understand.” Parents have no say so in how the team is run. Parents are not “agents”. Plus, the players are on the team, not the parents. If a player has something to say about his situation, he should talk with the coach. He must learn to confront his boss. That is one of those lessons in life we talk about learning from baseball. My eldest son played for Gary Ward at Ok State. Coach Ward told them that if they weren’t man enough to come to his office and discuss a problem, then he didn’t think they had a problem, with baseball. My son says that for the rest of his life he will never be intimidated to meet with an executive even the President of the US because nothing could possibly be as scary as going to Coach Ward but he did it and is a better man for it. Those “profound observations” in the stands can make them a “cancer” and those shared observations with his son on the way home in the car can poison his son’s relationship with his coaches and teammates. Words can have unintended consequences!
11.DO your part in the field maintenance program, concession stand duty, etc. I even went so far as to tell the parents “I don’t do fields. I coach baseball. You will be responsible for organizing field duty”. It worked.
12. HAVE FUN!!! Enjoy this precious time in your son’s life.
By the way, where are y’all playing? We play out at Palmer Park.
First, Chili said it’s your birthday, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
I fondly remember el Markos. I’m pretty sure that’s where my Sharpie obsession started. I played softball as a kid. I was not good. Maybe 1 hit a game if I was lucky. I remember needing to break in my glove. I put a softball in the…uh….catchy part and then used about 10 large rubber bands to hold it that way.
My 6 year old runs cross country. It’s much cheaper. Shoes. The end. 🙂
Do you think people like us (non-sporty, smarty pants) secretly dream of parenting a sports star?
BB_FAN: You need your own blog, dude!
But, he is right. The interaction with your own kid = lifetime of memories. “Wanna have a catch, dad?” Bawwwwl.
But I resent the ignorant “MOM” on the sideline part. It’s usually the dads… just sayin’ – ’cause I know ALL the rules and stuff.
I hate baseball. Truthfully, I was a little disappointed when Nathan chose to try baseball instead of doing spring soccer. I’m certainly not letting him know that, though! I’m proud of him for getting out there and trying new things. At his age, I would have been way to shy to do something like that. Currently, I’m just concerned that I can’t help him much with baseball practice. I could fake the soccer and the basketball well enough but I can’t throw a baseball accurately. So, catch and batting practice is difficult.
I really don’t care if he gets good at a sport or not. I do insist that he take it seriously. He has to practice at home and pay attention / participate during games (that means don’t be chasing bugs or chatting with your friends about Power Rangers, whether you are out on the field or waiting your turn). My goal is that he knows enough about playing the games that when he’s older he will feel confident enough to participate when a buddy wants to play a game of basketball or he’s asked to be on a company baseball team. I think its hard for us non-sporty people to get off the couch because we don’t want to look stupid. I want him to WANT to get out there and do something… any activity, really… that gets him moving.
Happy Birthday.
BB: Thanks. We’re at Palmer too.
Grammar Snob: Hello! Thank you for the birthday wish. When I first read your comment I read “…parenting a sports car?” 🙂
Gerry: Thanks! “Another lap around the sun,” as Mrs. Chili says.
Happy Birthday Bo! Chili sent me over.
It’s cool you went out and bought a new glove to play with your son. I have been asked to help coach my friend’s son’s team this year. Should be a ton of fun. Enjoy your time playing catch!
Hi, Auntie! Thanks for the wishes.
Lea, I used to hate baseball, too, but I’ve learned to kinda like it over the past two years (Mr. Chili is a Sox fan, as is Auntie, my sister. If I want to participate in conversations, I need to know a little sumpthin’). The rules are pretty easy, and if you get wrapped up in players you like (I’m a Big Papi girl, myself, and Mike Lowell is my Secret Boyfriend), then it makes it even more fun. The fact that Nathan’s involved will get YOU involved.
Oh, and the throwing and catching thing is just like ANYTHING else – the more YOU practice, the better you’ll get. You’ll improve right along with your boy.
Have fun!
What a wonderful piece! Many thanks to Mrs. Chili for introducing me to your writing! Perhaps if I were a parent I’d have more to say about it.
life is good,
NakedMessenger
Hi, NakedMessenger! Thanks much for the plaudit. And I think an awful lot of Mrs. Chili, and any friend of hers…etc. 🙂