A Two-out Rally

The last pitch was thrown. A called strike. A two-out rally had ended as suddenly as that faint glimmer of hope had surfaced with two walks and now runners at 1st and 2nd. Faces turned down, hope became despair and heavy feet kicked dust in the air. The baseball season ended sooner than every child on the team had expected. A winning season, ended with a first round tournament loss. A season full of wins, makes losing so much more difficult to except. Expressionless faces, a few tears, kids slowly walked to their parents cars. Their emotions much larger than the ball field, now only seen through the rear view mirror.

It is hard as a parent to see our children lose. The disappointment in their eyes tug at our hearts. We console or kids and try to impart wisdom to help lessen the sting. Little do our kids know how much of the pain we share. We search for the right words. We search for that perfect moment where we can teach our children that, yes, losing is disappointing. We stress those magical moments that occur during the season that will forever be irreplaceable. Moments that will bring us back to the game and the possibility that we will again face the reality of losing.

And sometimes life replaces our words and events unfold that truly teach us that a game lost is, well, nothing more than an opportunity to look forward to future games and future wins. We get lost in the emotions of our games until reality sets in and we learn the truth to our disappointment...it's just a game.

The disappointment continued to hang in the air. Kade's emotions still difficult for him to handle. Then real tragedy hit. A brief email suddenly brought perpestive to all of us. Kade's friend became critically ill. Suddenly the game seems so long ago and the unexpected turns of life hit us right in the face. We feel lost.

We tuck our children into bed. Our usual prayers take on a new direction. No longer does striking out feel that bad. We take time for each other. We take a moment for Kade's friend. The loss of a game now seems simple, but our earlier hope for that two-out rally is rediscovered in a more meaningful situation.

Growing Up

I always laughed at my wife, because she would have a hard time parting with clothes that no longer fit the kids. It was her way of holding onto the moment, stopping time and not allowing the kids to age another day. Of course her efforts were fruitless, but I always chuckled at the idea. Today was different. At the boys end of the year talent show, I finally realized that my kids are growing up. Not aging, but maturing. I listened as the staff sang "We Will Miss You" to the beat of We Will Rock You, realizing that Kade is moving on to a new school and Isaac will complete his time at Ada Elementary. No longer will their days start and end at the same location. And Kelly points out that they will be apart until high school.

Separation marks a new beginning, but also a loss for each. Sure they have their disagreements. Yet they always would look out for one another at school, catching a glimpse of the other out of the corner of their eye and finding comfort in that brief moment. Enemies at times, but brothers forever.

Kade moves onto Goodwillie and Isaac will become Isaac. Isaac's first step into his own personna occurred today at school when he played his drums. He put away his fears, put on his headphones and for a moment became the big brother. He was so excited and as parents we were ever so proud. It is hard to beleive, but my kids are growing. For me, this marks the first time I have wanted to hold on to the clothes that were too small. Yep, a touch of sadness as I realized my kids are growing. I should have understood my wife has known what she is doing all along.