The Most Important Things to a T-Ball Slugger

If you ever want some very amusing, free entertainment, go to a 5-6-year-old T-ball game. It's so great. You'll see kids in the outfield doing gymnastics or chatting about whatever. Once in a while the ball will come their way and after hearing a parent yell, "Get the ball! Get the ball!" they'll sorta "come to" and start chasing it down. What's even more entertaining is watching the kids' facial expressions when they're trying with all their might to hit that little ball off of the tee.

Max's favorite thing about playing T-ball is having Mom and Dad cheer for him. Before each game, he'll ask, "Mom, are you going to cheer for me tonight?"

"Of course, Max," I'll assure him.

"What are you going to say?"

"GOOD HIT, MAX! or ALL RIGHT MAX!"

"Really?"

"Of course!"

He's been to a zillion of his big brother's baseball, soccer, basketball and football games. It never occurred to me that this was his big debut in the spectator-sport world. And he's a middle child. This is his time to shine!

Max's 2nd favorite thing about T-ball it is the post-game treats. Here's a classic 6-year-old moment that I must record:

I was in charge of bringing the drinks last Tuesday night. Went to Wally's that day and picked up some Capri Suns. There were 10 in the box. 10 on the team. Perfect. As soon as we got to the ball field, little brother Bennett saw the box and persisted in crying for one. Shoot! Why don't I ever prepare for incidents like this?

Oh wait, maybe I have enough. I count the little ball-capped heads on Max's team. Yeah! Only 9! So Bennett gets his way (as always) and we enjoy the game in peace. See, look.

Forty-five minutes later, the game ends and the boys all gather to get their snacks from one mom, and their drinks from me. I hand out all nine, thinking "OK, one more thing to cross off my list this week. Yeah."

About a minute later, a little Pirate whom I've never met comes up to me and says, "Can I have one?" Uh oh. You've got to be kidding. I know I counted several times! One more must have sneaked in late! I feel like the meanest, most awful person in the world, as I explain to him that I ran out. This is all my fault. I'm seriously thinking this little guy is going to cry. I apologize to his sad little face (as well as his Dad's) 3 or 4 times and I think, OK, so Max isn't the only 6-year-old who thinks Capri Suns are cooler than anything in the world. If I were a dog, I would have my tail between my legs right now, cowering away.

A little glimmer of inspiration (insanity?) flashes through my mind and I think, OK. I'll go explain the situation to Max. Maybe he'll see how sad this boy is and will feel compassion for him and sacrifice his Capri Sun to save him from a broken heart.

I suggest it. Surprisingly, he marches right over to the boy and hands him his drink. For a brief moment, I get this elated, proud mom feeling. No way! My little Max is growing up.

Suddenly, everything changes. Max is searching for something. Oh, there it is. The Capri Sun box. He looks into the box, fully expecting to find one more little silver pouch. Oh, dear. Oh, no! This can't be happening. It's empty!

I can almost read his mind. It's like someone has just punched him in the stomach. He's thinking "How could she possibly do this to me?" His face suddenly changes, and out comes an anguished cry. This is not just a pitiful, crocodile-tear cry. It's the kind where he has to continually inhale to get enough air and his throat makes that weird, croaky sound. I'm thinking, "Oh crap. If that boy's dad sees this, I'm going to die of embarrassment." I quickly walk Max as far away as possible and motion to Jeremy that I need his help PRONTO! I explain the situation to Jeremy.

Somehow Dad is able to yell his plan of attack over his son's sobs. "Max! How about we go right now, just you and me, and go get a really big soda somewhere. You can pick out whatever you want." Thankfully, Max hears the desperate suggestion and suddenly everything is A-O.K. in his life once again.

Just like that.

It's a home run!