It's a bit unnerving for me to find myself in the stands while he is on the field. It's been raining and it's chilly. The mud stains won't be easy to erase from the white fabric, but the uniform is sharp with the white and green. He doesn't look cold. In fact, the pitcher continuously sheds his hat to wipe his brow. The field must rev the adrenaline to heat our boys.
He's ready for anything. I'm wondering when his dad will arrive. There's a runner on 2nd and now one walks to first. Time is called and the 2nd visit to the mound occurs. Suddenly I hear his name called from the bucket. He's up and so is my blood pressure. He heads to the mound to take the heat from another. I find that the heat in the field is spreading to the stands.
He is a novice pitcher. He is an aspiring pitcher. He practiced with our pitch-back almost every day last week. He was working on a change-up which continues to evade his hand. It is frustrating, but he won't let that stop him. We continually remind him that you have to work at everything in order to be successful. and he knows it. God gave him natural talent, but he still must refine his abilities by repeatedly throwing, swinging and catching.
Calls are being made from all sides of the field. Those on base listen to their respective coaches. Demands are made from the bucket. and from the dugout. Signs come from the plate. He pulls his leg high, reaches out and launches the ball while leaning toward the front of the mound. He's nervous but confident - I can tell because I've known him his entire life. I read the determination and optimism on his face.
Slowly his face undergoes a slight change. I watch as he releases the ball too early, or too late. "Blue" holds the range tight. Each sling must be perfectly placed along the beltline today for a favorable call. Another player makes it to first. Now the three bases are full. That face that I have kissed a million times continues to show determination but his confidence is waning. The catcher brings the ball to my boy, patting him on the back and reminding him that he can do it. Encouraging words from his friend bring back a glimmer of confidence.
I remain in the bleachers. He seems so far, but we are just 50 feet from each other. I know he can do it. Throwing strikes is the goal, but doubt has taken over and the ball hits the dirt. Another meeting with the catcher. The bucket is getting louder, with encouragement, and LOTS of instructions. He glances at me on the way back to the mound. He suddenly stops and focuses only on me. It is all I can do not to race toward him. "You can do it," I say. But he is not sure. Doubt, frustration, overload - they are there to stay.
Relief arrives as he returns to his comfort zone - just to the left of 2nd base. I know that boy. I can read the frustration and desperation as they sit on his shoulders. I know he could have done it. He was just an out away from the end of the inning. Once again, I am reminded, he is only 12. Experience tells me he will make it through the next time.
I will be ready for him after the game. Ready to tell him that we are proud of him. Ready to remind him that of greatest importance, he is who God says he is. Ready to wrap him in my arms with a hug that will fill him again with hope. Yet, for now, I am overcome with helplessness as I observe it all through the fence.
