Quite A Parent

There were a lot of high points in Cooperstown last week.

There were a lot of low points too.

The 18-0 loss.

The 15-2 loss.

The 22-0 loss.

The 16-2 loss.

The 6-5 loss.

In extra innings.

Don’t forget the 15-0 loss.

Those were all low points.

But the lowest of the lows for me was when I got called out by an umpire.

It didn’t happen on the field.

Or in the dugout.

It happened right in the middle of the complex.

We had just finished the 15-0 loss when I decided to give my son a piece of my mind.

Timing is everything.

It had nothing to do with the 15.

Or the 0.

Or the loss.

It had to do with his character.

He had done something that I really had a problem with.

And I felt like he needed to hear what I had to say.

So I pulled him aside and started chewing.

Unfortunately mid-chew an umpire walked right past us.

“Son, are you having fun?”, he said.

“Not at the moment,” I responded.

“Yeah.  I can tell,” said the umpire.

Who just kept walking.

Not much of a conversation.

But it said a quattuordecillion words.

If you knew what I was mad about, I have no doubt you would understand why I felt the way I did.

And you might even agree with my choice of feedback.

But despite my effort to pull my son aside.

My lecture was way too public.

For me.

And I’m sure for him.

I wasn’t looking for an audience.

And I definitely didn’t need someone to officiate.

But the whole thing ruined the rest of my day.

I can only image what it did to my son.

I’ve never claimed to be the father of the year.

Well there was that blog back in February.

But I really didn’t mean it.

That was sarcasm.

But to publicly make my son feel bad.

Even if the public was just one guy.

That was terrible.

I deserved to be ejected.

The guilt I had was stomach-aching.

The pain I felt was heart-breaking.

I know what I said was right.

I also know the way I said it was oh so wrong.

Being a parent is the hardest job I have ever had.

Well working in that law office was a hard job too.

But they fired me before I did too much damage.

Parenting is the one job that keeps on giving.

Giving you love.

Giving you a headache.

Giving you a second chance.

Or a third chance if you need it.

Fortunately my son bounced back pretty quickly after the tongue lashing.

It took me a lot longer.

But we both moved on.

And enjoyed the rest of our time.

Together.

The timing of my most recent parental failure was especially disappointing.

We had just finished our game against a team from Tennessee.

That was the 15-0 loss.

Honestly it could’ve been 150-0.

They had kids who were big enough to eat our players.

Their third baseman stood six foot something.

Must’ve weighed 200 something.

And he’s 12.

I didn’t see him say a word during our entire game.

He let his bat.

And his glove.

And his right arm.

Do all his talking.

There is no doubt we will see him play for a very long time.

Unfortunately his mom will not.

She was working in the local post office last October.

When a father and son walked in.

With a gun.

They were there to commit a robbery.

When they left, two people were dead.

Including the mother of the third baseman.

We were told they got away with $68.

But they didn’t get far.

Fortunately they were caught.

But that’s hardly a happy ending.

I didn’t get a chance to talk to the third baseman.

I don’t really know what I would’ve said.

But I was thrilled to see his dad at the game.

Cheering.

And smiling.

And supporting his boy.

The way it should be.