Knowing Left from Right

E. had just turned seven and after never showing any real interest previously, he came home from school with a bright-colored flyer; he wanted to try baseball–that time-honored pastime passed down by fathers to sons. There was one problem, however, I was horrible. I had nothing to pass down. I enjoyed the game from afar. I liked going to games, collecting baseball cards, and playing pickup wiffleball games, but that was it. But my son was asking, so it was my time to step up and figure out this game that I’d failed at so many times before.

I was willing to do everything I could. The problem was that there wasn’t much I knew how to do. We would’ve been able to figure a few things out before coach pitch if he had played teeball previously, but we had apparently decided to skip this part. He would’ve had others around who knew what they were doing. They could’ve given him (and me) a few pointers. I even could’ve had my brother (who traveled the state as an all-star in his youth) play catch with him and put him through the paces and show him how to hit, but without all of those options, E. was stuck with me.

It wasn’t entirely hopeless, we had played catch in the front yard a bunch and it isn’t like E. isn’t athletic. He’d been playing soccer since he could walk, lacing up cleats since the age of four. The larger problem was time. We only had a few days to follow up on the info, check his glove to make sure it still fit, and go to buy a bat. Our biggest issue was that he’d never really swung one, which I suppose made sense that we’d avoided; it was the part I was the worst at. I played a little bit, but I was way too timid and shouldn’t have been out there. I was afraid of the ball–my neighbor had hit me enough times to make sure of that. He was an all-star pitcher and kept convincing me to take batting practice only for him to get closer until he’d plunk me. I never learned. Bobby was convincing. Anyway, I was brave enough to get into the batter’s box and even crowd the plate and get on base. I hardly ever swung. The opposing team was happy to mock me with calls of “chicken” and they weren’t wrong. I had a pretty high on-base percentage considering, but I remember I had a pretty terrible time. I was constantly asking myself “Why did I sign up for this?” I didn’t want that for E., but time was short for me to help him avoid this feeling.

We had time to play some catch in the front yard and brush up on some skills. We worked on his aim and tamed down the wild windmill action he had. I made sure he got his glove down after shuffling his feet to field ground balls–I couldn’t have him pulling a Buckner. We worked to bat a bit as well, but without someone to catch the balls he’d miss, it was pretty ineffective and we didn’t get very far or get i many reps. He wasn’t so much swinging as throwing the bat at it. His timing was off. He was high. He was low. He was closing his eyes. We were out of time.

We arrived at the Lewiston High School gym. I don’t know who was more nervous. I think he was just happy to see his friends. I remembered the drill, of course–the tryout. All the coaches were there to evaluate players for the drafts to try to make the teams fair. He started with throwing and fielding drills. From afar things seemed to go pretty well–his throws were accurate”ish” and he wasn’t scurrying across the gym after too many balls he’d missed. He didn’t stand out positively or negatively. He was doing okay, but hitting was next.

When it was his time to go in the batter’s box, I went in with him to adjust his stance. He stood pretty upright. addressed the plate correctly and looked the part, but as he’d only swung the bat a few times, I wasn’t expecting anything grand. I exited the batting cage and when the ball was pitched he hacked and hacked and made no real contact. He even did that thing once or twice where he swung hard enough to spin himself around. At least he was cute, with the bill of his baseball hat too big for his head and he appeared to be having fun even if was mortified. It isn’t that he wasn’t being successful and it wasn’t even that it was in public. None of that matters to me. He didn’t embarrass me at all–he was six how could he?. What mattered is that as his Dad, I clearly hadn’t done enough to help him be successful and I knew it. I had failed. It felt like everyone was watching and judging me. Perhaps they were, but perhaps it was just my imagination and faulty memory and guilt. He got the same number of swings as everyone else and the coaches wrote some things down in their notes. I can’t imagine what it was. Perhaps…Dad? He’d be on a team no matter what, but I knew his lack of preparation had more to do with me than with him.

We left and I know he’s a knock off the old block, the apple that fell close to this tree (good and bad), a spitting image of me. He’s looking forward to being on a team and he didn’t take it too hard. He’s not worried, so why was I? We were told we’ll get a call in a few days from his coach and they’d set up practice times, which meant he’d get coaching from someone far more qualified than me. We left the gym content. We were getting in the car just about ready to drive away when I remembered–I throw right-handed and bat left, but that didn’t mean he had to. How could I have overlooked this? Perhaps it was because we were rushing? Maybe it was because I couldn’t teach it from the other side of the plate? (I couldn’t teach it anyway…)

I took him home and threw him a few pitches in the front yard after setting him up on the right side. He still missed the ball. It didn’t cure everything. This isn’t a Disney movie, but he lost the awkwardness. He’s my kid and a lot of the same quirks I have, he’s been demonstrating, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to grow up to be me.

I made sure to tell his coach at the first practice what I had done…he set him up to bat right after chuckling. I chuckled too, but fo a whole different reason.

Pictures of E. taken by JYoung98

“Baseball Card Collection” by sterlinggraham is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Below is a map of the Little League “North Fields” in Lewiston, where E. played his Little League Games.

Raymond A. Geiger Elementary is where E.’s team held practices.