Monday, July 5, 2010
"Kick It, Kick It....Home Run!"
I threw up my arms in sweet pride and victory. My oldest had kicked the ball perfectly and scored! The problem was that he’d kicked the baseball perfectly to 1st base. But I didn’t care. I was impressed. It made sense. It was way more efficient to kick a ball instead of bending over to pick it up and throw it. Plus, since he was able to walk, he’s been playing soccer, not baseball. And it is obvious.
While all the other five-year-old boys know how to throw overhand, Bren awkwardly attempts to mimic this skill. I feel a little bad for him. I know how it feels to not be good at a sport. Mine was field hockey, fifth grade.
My best friend and I loathed it together. We had P.E. with the boys, and the boys were rough. Those plastic hockey sticks could really leave bruises. We concluded it was better to injure each other and be sent to the office for ice, than to be pelted repeatedly by aggressive male classmates.
Looking back, I’m sure our theatrics were not believable. But we sure thought we were convincing and would laugh our way to the office, replaying our field-hockey-injury-scene.
I don’t want Bren to get a complex at this young age. I want him to feel confident about his T-ball skills. My husband disagrees---mainly because he finds the sport boring: really it is. It is a little slow. My middle son play on the team too, and he’s figured out that it is really only fun when you are up to bat. Because of this, he’s often coming up with excuses for needing to sit on the bench while our team is in the field...he positions himself close to the team snacks.
I don’t think my husband needs to worry. They both seem quite in love with the world sport of soccer. They know all the names of the best players in the world. They reenact the great matches of Liverpool in our living room. The sit on their daddy’s lap and watch games in Spanish, even though they can’t understand a word anyone is saying. It is for the love of the game.
“But honey, I just don’t want the other kids thinking he’s not athletic because he can’t throw a baseball. Can’t you work with him on it?”
“Rebekah, you know he’ll figure it out when he wants too. Remember the bike.”
Yep. I do. Bren got it in his mind that he needed to be five to ride a bike without training wheels. Even though we knew he could do it, he refused. Then his birthday came. We were driving home from church and he announced, “I’m going to ride my bike today.”
I was nervous. What if it didn’t work? Would all confidence be dashed?
Lucky for us and him, it did. So, I think will be the case with throwing a pitch overhand. One day he’ll just do it, or maybe he won’t. Maybe he doesn’t really care. Maybe he was as pleased as I was when he kicked the ball to first base. Goal!