“Daddy you’ll have plenty of time to write because you will be at the baseball field for 5 hours today.”
Well that’s one way to put it. Brandon knew I needed to start my column and wanted to write about both boys starting to play baseball. So he suggested I use some of that time at the field to start.
I didn’t push the boys into playing organized team sports, even though deep down I hoped they would. Playing sports was such a huge part of my life growing up. I wanted them to commit to something so they could learn responsibility, get coached by someone other than me and figure out how to win and lose. I learned quickly that playing as a kid is totally different from supporting as a parent. After having only Adam play baseball last year, both boys decided they were going to play this fall. Sarah and I had no idea what we were really getting into.
All of a sudden we had endless car rides to and from games or practices, which somehow with two kids were spaced out for nearly every night of the week and twice on Saturdays. Add in work, family time and everything else life throws at you and it’s like putting together a puzzle where the pieces don’t always all fit. And that’s before we even get to things not lining up with work hours, which forces some really hard choices including leaning on grandparents to pitch in when needed. Between keeping track of schedules, uniforms, snacks and transportation, sometimes I feel like we’ve started a logistics company instead of a family.
We learned real fast how important it was to find a routine because the schedule exploded. On weekdays, the boys had an hour and a half tops to do homework, change for the game and make and eat dinner (unless we were grabbing something on the go), all before heading out to the field. We wouldn’t leave the ballfield until dark so we never knew what we would come home to. We’d be trying to get overtired kids, who have their own feelings after playing, to shower and finish anything else left to do before bedtime – without any meltdowns (which is why homework before the practice was so important).
And nobody explained the rollercoaster of emotions you feel watching your child succeed, stumble, feel pain or even fail, no matter their age. The smiles on their faces are awesome to see, but the pain when they struggle or get hurt is something you’d take away if you could. But then when you see them shake it off to keep going, you feel that pride again.
I’ve had lots of people tell me that being a sports parent (or any extracurricular activity) requires balance, patience and commitment, and not just from your kids. While I always appreciate the advice, it’s so much harder to achieve. And yet with all the time it takes and the challenges it creates, I wouldn’t trade the experience of watching the boys learn how to play, grow as people, and develop confidence on the field for anything. It brings me more pride than when I succeed at things myself. They’ve joined new teams and made friends with no hesitation, learned new skills, overcome setbacks and made memories for not only themselves, but me too. That makes it all worthwhile, even if it does take a real toll on all of us along the way.
