He’s up with the sun, pulling on socks, tying cleats, and crawling under the living room couch to retrieve his hat.
“Is it time now?” he asks every fifteen minutes for over two hours until at last it is time and we pile into the van.
“Will you be watching?” he wants to know as we drive to the field.
“Of course I will.”
“Will everyone be watching?”
“Yes, sweetie. We’re all going just to see you play.”
When we reach the field, he grabs his mitt, bolts from the van, and races to the field. I make my way slowly behind, dragging the toddler and lugging the baby. I wave good morning to fellow baseball moms and then focus my camera through the chain link fence where I watch him throw, catch, hit, run, jump, shout, and turn intermittently in my direction with a wide grin.
Fifth of eight kids. Third of five boys. This is his morning.
When it’s over he hurries back to my side, breathless with excitement.
“Did you see me? Can we stop for a drink on the way home?”
I sure did. And we sure can.
[tags]baseball, little league, boys sports[/tags]