Parenting in the Ballpark
Parenthood is a Mensa mental challenge these days of major league proportions. Uncomfortable silence be damned! You are my son and I will keep rattling off topics requiring more than a yes/no answer until the cows come home, as we pass the pastures and rolling hills of Oregon en route to our latest baseball tournament. The hour and location unimportant, I have a GPS and my only goal is time alone with you. With four children, a car ride alone with you is a passable date as I step up to the plate.
Deep voice and prickly moustache amidst your fourteen-year-old complexion, I can still see the almost 8lb 12.5oz little slugger with handsome sideburns gazing in my eyes with wonder.
I know you still need your mom even though your replies sound more like grunts. Why is the answer to what you and your buddies ate for dinner while skateboarding last night 'stuff'? I'm mom and you're safe!
This is my first time parenting a teen boy. Grunts and stuff may be the norm though it's easier to see happiness in a brace-toothed grin.
I wonder how you interact with other adults. Do you look them in the eye and answer with respect as we taught you? I hardly trust the shifty-eyed teens. You told me the other day that grandmas love to talk to you. I trust the grandmas and coaches, and most of all, you.
Your baseball coach told me you're his favorite co-pilot these days. He's 'cracked your shell' and 'you're a good kid'. I wish I could crack your shell and peer into your soul. What I wouldn't give for your honest thoughts some days.
"If you could pick your dream vacation, where would you go?" I ask with curiosity hoping to spark conversation longer than 30 seconds. "Mexico I guess," you reply. Three words and no grunt is a home run in my book!
I am thankful for positive mentors in your life. Adults who will steer you in the right direction should peer pressure divert you off course and teachers and coaches who challenge your potential.
Your quiet demeanor has challenged me. I can read your three siblings like a book with their emotional pitches louder than a screaming teakettle, though I wonder if you and I connect. I bear hug you tight and cherish your one-armed pat in return. You don't need me as a little boy anymore, or do you?
I learned our best conversations are walking alone together to school this past semester. Today you told me about the pros and cons of summer caddying versus lifeguarding at the pool. Our walk was too short this time. I'll miss that half-mile together as you move on to high school and more independence with friends versus home base.
From the aluminum bleachers, wood-hard auditorium seat or co-pilot seat in the car, I will be there for you. We're learning together and I'll vow to never strike out, though you say my cheerleading 'is over the top mom'!
We arrive on the field. The morning dew on the grass is succumbing to the sun's burning rays. Applying sunscreen buys me a few extra moments. You grab your baseball bag and grunt goodbye, running off to the baseball diamond without so much as a one-armed pat. "Have fun!" is all I have time to muster. Parenthood is a mental challenge. I'll take a single today. I love the game. Batter up!
Deep voice and prickly moustache amidst your fourteen-year-old complexion, I can still see the almost 8lb 12.5oz little slugger with handsome sideburns gazing in my eyes with wonder.
I know you still need your mom even though your replies sound more like grunts. Why is the answer to what you and your buddies ate for dinner while skateboarding last night 'stuff'? I'm mom and you're safe!
This is my first time parenting a teen boy. Grunts and stuff may be the norm though it's easier to see happiness in a brace-toothed grin.
I wonder how you interact with other adults. Do you look them in the eye and answer with respect as we taught you? I hardly trust the shifty-eyed teens. You told me the other day that grandmas love to talk to you. I trust the grandmas and coaches, and most of all, you.
Your baseball coach told me you're his favorite co-pilot these days. He's 'cracked your shell' and 'you're a good kid'. I wish I could crack your shell and peer into your soul. What I wouldn't give for your honest thoughts some days.
"If you could pick your dream vacation, where would you go?" I ask with curiosity hoping to spark conversation longer than 30 seconds. "Mexico I guess," you reply. Three words and no grunt is a home run in my book!
I am thankful for positive mentors in your life. Adults who will steer you in the right direction should peer pressure divert you off course and teachers and coaches who challenge your potential.
Your quiet demeanor has challenged me. I can read your three siblings like a book with their emotional pitches louder than a screaming teakettle, though I wonder if you and I connect. I bear hug you tight and cherish your one-armed pat in return. You don't need me as a little boy anymore, or do you?
I learned our best conversations are walking alone together to school this past semester. Today you told me about the pros and cons of summer caddying versus lifeguarding at the pool. Our walk was too short this time. I'll miss that half-mile together as you move on to high school and more independence with friends versus home base.
From the aluminum bleachers, wood-hard auditorium seat or co-pilot seat in the car, I will be there for you. We're learning together and I'll vow to never strike out, though you say my cheerleading 'is over the top mom'!
We arrive on the field. The morning dew on the grass is succumbing to the sun's burning rays. Applying sunscreen buys me a few extra moments. You grab your baseball bag and grunt goodbye, running off to the baseball diamond without so much as a one-armed pat. "Have fun!" is all I have time to muster. Parenthood is a mental challenge. I'll take a single today. I love the game. Batter up!
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