Since the first of April I have been going to my grandson's baseball games. This is his second year to play and he is playing T-ball/Coach pitch. It has been an absolute fun thing to do. I must admit that I dreaded it before it began, but it has been so much fun to watch these 6 year old boys improve over the last weeks. His team is 8 wins and 1 loss and now is in second place in his division.
While watching him my own baseball days, which were quite few, have come to mind. I remember playing T-Ball and moving up to when the players pitched. I didn't play anymore after the 5th grade, but I would like to share with you two stories that I remember.
Story 1
I believe I was in the third grade and was at bat. In those days the batting helmets were quite different than today. They consisted of little more than a hard piece of plastic that went around the temples with ear holes and a strap that went over the head from ear to ear to hold it on. Well the little pitcher thought he was Major League and tried to throw a curve, and it curved alright right up against my head. Out I went, cold as a cucumber. When I came to our family Dr. was there waking me up.(he just happened to be at the game) I thought I was OK to go to first and I did make it, but when the next batter hit the ball I couldn't find second base. It kept moving from side to side. Needless to say I was thrown out at second. I can remember that fogging look just like yesterday when it is now almost 50 years ago. Ugh! Time has flown.
Story 2
Let me begin this one with just a little background. For those of you who don't know me personally, my dad is a Baptist minister and has been all my life. In my younger years, most Christians were more legalistic in living. We didn't play sports on Sunday's or do much of anything else for that matter. If the church doors were open for meetings then you were there. For a brief period my dad was not serving a church and we attended as regular members of a local church where we lived at the time.
It was baseball time again that spring and I played once again. Well, now there were some games on Wednesday night and of course I couldn't go. Except one time. I finally talked my dad into letting play this one Wednesday. I don't remember why it was so special. He relented this time and took me to the field and then he went to prayer meeting at church which was less than a mile away. In the course of that hour a huge thunderstorm blew up and they called the game for lighting. And man was it. Then the rain came in buckets. Everyone left and there I was a 5th grader standing alone in the dark under the eave of the concession stand in the worst storm I could remember. Dad suddenly realized what was going on outside and came to the rescue. He said nothing but I knew that I would never ever again do that when I was to be at church. I got the message loud and clear.
I was never very good. Couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. If I got on base the ball always had manged to hit me instead of me hitting it, but I will always remember those days as fun days and times.
So here is to my grandson, GO CAYDEN!
