Good Neighbors: The Sandlot
My husband was at work this evening, so I decided to take the kids to the park. Our kids love to run around, hang upside-down, swing, climb - we go to parks often to let them exercise. This is what we refer to as "gym class" during our homeschool day. My 4-year-old daughter insisted on wearing a Scooby Doo costume and my 3-year-old came dressed in his favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt, complete with velcro cape. Well, it's close to Halloween. Knock yourself out!
The children played while I caught up with a long lost friend who just happened to be at the park with her children at the same time. After they left, my oldest daughter's attention was focused on a pick-up game of baseball in the field next to the playground. It appeared to be a group of neighborhood kids and dads playing for fun. My daughter came over and asked if she could join the game. After brief consideration, I said, "Sure!" Now, my adult mind was reeling with "What ifs," but I knew that my little social butterfly would work her way into the game. She has a sort of magic touch when it comes to making friends and fitting in...so I stood back and watched.
After standing behind the fence for 5-10 minutes, she was approached by one of the dads who asked if she'd like to join the game. "Can I, mom?" she called. Her face was glowing with anticipation. There was no way I was saying no to this child. We homeschool, but we do not cloister our children. If she wants to go play with some neighborhood children, I support it wholeheartedly. So in she went!
Now, my husband is more of a computer guy. A video gamer. A Lego man. He never went out for sports as a child or young adult, so our kids haven't spent much time on the baseball field. None, really, unless you count our few attempts and pitching and batting with plastic bats and balls last summer. In fact, her entering the game reminded me of one of my favorite movies, The Sandlot. My daughter was "Smalls." No doubt about it.
In the movie, Smalls showed up wearing khaki pants and a polo shirt, and he had donned his baseball cap - too big, straight bill, adorned with a big generic fish. I think he was wearing penny loafers, wore his hair neatly slicked to the side, and didn't have one piece of baseball equipment to his name. Dweebo numero uno.
At the real-life backyard ballgame, my daughter was given a glove and a place on the field. Away they went! She was super proud of wearing the glove and gave me thumbs up and a big smile. I took pictures (I'm such a proud mom) and watched the game unfold. As ball after ball rolled by her, the team realized she didn't know what to do with the glove. They taught her how to hold it on the ground while one dad hit grounders so she could practice retrieving them. After two or three tries, she had it down. When it came to batting, whoa - she'd never held a real metal bat before, nor did she have any technique. After her first couple tries, one of the dads coached her on how to hold the bat and swing it. She missed 10 times, but she was determined to get it right. On the 11th try, she hit that sucker - it was a line drive and she dashed out to first base. I was the only person in the stands and I let out a big "Woohoo!!" for my girl.
As we left the park that day, I thanked the dads who took time to teach my little girl to play baseball. She even asked if we could come back so she could try it again some time.
I think this whole experience made a great impression on me because...I had sort of lost faith in good neighbors. In our neighborhood, I've only seen a handful of neighbors and rarely talk with them. No one sits out on their porch any more. No children are playing in their backyards or streets because they're too busy with schoolwork, team sports, or video games.
This evening, I witnessed and watched our daughter participate in a piece of Americana: a wholesome neighborhood ballgame. Dads who gave up their evening to share a game of baseball with their children and neighbor kids. Just folks being folks like it was back in the 80's.
The children played while I caught up with a long lost friend who just happened to be at the park with her children at the same time. After they left, my oldest daughter's attention was focused on a pick-up game of baseball in the field next to the playground. It appeared to be a group of neighborhood kids and dads playing for fun. My daughter came over and asked if she could join the game. After brief consideration, I said, "Sure!" Now, my adult mind was reeling with "What ifs," but I knew that my little social butterfly would work her way into the game. She has a sort of magic touch when it comes to making friends and fitting in...so I stood back and watched.
After standing behind the fence for 5-10 minutes, she was approached by one of the dads who asked if she'd like to join the game. "Can I, mom?" she called. Her face was glowing with anticipation. There was no way I was saying no to this child. We homeschool, but we do not cloister our children. If she wants to go play with some neighborhood children, I support it wholeheartedly. So in she went!
Now, my husband is more of a computer guy. A video gamer. A Lego man. He never went out for sports as a child or young adult, so our kids haven't spent much time on the baseball field. None, really, unless you count our few attempts and pitching and batting with plastic bats and balls last summer. In fact, her entering the game reminded me of one of my favorite movies, The Sandlot. My daughter was "Smalls." No doubt about it.
In the movie, Smalls showed up wearing khaki pants and a polo shirt, and he had donned his baseball cap - too big, straight bill, adorned with a big generic fish. I think he was wearing penny loafers, wore his hair neatly slicked to the side, and didn't have one piece of baseball equipment to his name. Dweebo numero uno.
At the real-life backyard ballgame, my daughter was given a glove and a place on the field. Away they went! She was super proud of wearing the glove and gave me thumbs up and a big smile. I took pictures (I'm such a proud mom) and watched the game unfold. As ball after ball rolled by her, the team realized she didn't know what to do with the glove. They taught her how to hold it on the ground while one dad hit grounders so she could practice retrieving them. After two or three tries, she had it down. When it came to batting, whoa - she'd never held a real metal bat before, nor did she have any technique. After her first couple tries, one of the dads coached her on how to hold the bat and swing it. She missed 10 times, but she was determined to get it right. On the 11th try, she hit that sucker - it was a line drive and she dashed out to first base. I was the only person in the stands and I let out a big "Woohoo!!" for my girl.
As we left the park that day, I thanked the dads who took time to teach my little girl to play baseball. She even asked if we could come back so she could try it again some time.
I think this whole experience made a great impression on me because...I had sort of lost faith in good neighbors. In our neighborhood, I've only seen a handful of neighbors and rarely talk with them. No one sits out on their porch any more. No children are playing in their backyards or streets because they're too busy with schoolwork, team sports, or video games.
This evening, I witnessed and watched our daughter participate in a piece of Americana: a wholesome neighborhood ballgame. Dads who gave up their evening to share a game of baseball with their children and neighbor kids. Just folks being folks like it was back in the 80's.
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