little LEAGUE

I have intentionally waited a couple weeks to write this post because I have had to recover from the initial terrible, horrible, no good very bad day we first started little league. I have wanted to sign Isaac up for a team sport for a while now. He loves playing soccer with Coach Louis at Discovery School, so I figured it would be a good experience for him to get on a team with kids his own age, and try something new. After deciding on tball through the parks and rec, I called their office the morning of - having not received anything in the mail - and asked what was required for the first practice. The lady on the phone told me to bring a mit, cleats, baseball pants, and socks. REALLY?!!! I asked. That seems like a lot for a four year old, but she said yes. So I made an emergency dash to sports chalet and picket up all of the accoutrements. I woke grumpy Isaac from his nap, and took the whole family to the park figuring Coco could play in the toddler area while we watched him practice. When there was no sign of kids, or anything tball related I went into the office and asked where the practice was being held.
A car ride, and a couple miles later we finally found field 8, and a bunch of little kids NOT IN UNIFORM. I gasped, have I just created a situation where my kid is the only one in uniform, and the outcast? How could I have not been more prepared, double checked, brought a change of clothes. And then I noticed that he was so proud of being 'different' and that the kids looked at him (the biggest kid in the group) with admiration. Lesson learned, at four different is ok, even cool. I bathed in that for a moment knowing very soon this would change.
And then the couch opened his mouth, I remembered how much I hate organized sports. This guy/coach was treating the kids like they were teenagers, and clearly had no idea how to coach. Run to first base! Isaac looked at him like... what? He had no idea what that even meant. I turned to the mother next to me and asked, isn't this supposed to be fun. She said smiling, its sports.
Watching Isaac amongst these kids he didn't know, and a coach that was, well, mean, was one of the first times I observed him having to cope with a life situation that wasn't in his comfort zone. And then I realized that he was actually fine with it, it was me that was having the melt down. He is still my baby - or at least I thought he was before we (he) stepped foot on that field. I quickly realized that we were untying one more cord of connection from his body to mine. For the next forty five minutes he was going to have to fend for himself and decide if this was something that he enjoyed.
The minute practice was over Isaac came rushing out, I HAVE TO POO. Oh no. The park only had a storage room and bathroom for the coaches, so I had to ask mean coach if he would let us in, and after much begging he did, where of course Isaac refused to go to the bathroom. So we headed to the car where he decided he REALLY HAD TO GO. But wanted to wait until we got home. It was the car ride home from hell, but once we got home, and he used the bathroom, and the trauma settled he looked at me and said mommy, when do I get to play tball again. And then I realized... my kid is resilient, maybe I'm the one who needs to grow up.
And so last week at practice we showed up in shorts and a tshirt, took it for what it was, and had a good time. I was still the nervous parent on the bench making sure my kid was advocating for himself, getting his turn, using the glove on the correct hand. In this situation, where almost every father is on the field coaching their own kid, I felt it necessary to watch from a distance over my own. If nothing else I am sure this experience will allow both of us to grow, both apart and together. In fact I believe it already has.

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