‘H’ is for Hit and ‘I’ is for I Hurt

Little Man has been all about soccer for the past few years. He played baseball for a couple of seasons prior to BG being born, but shifted to soccer, much to our dismay. We both love baseball, so it stung when he wasn’t in love with the sport and instead liked a sport that we knew nothing about, not that we let on.

But then he decided to skip out on soccer this season and has started showing a huge interest in baseball again. He’s even taking it upon himself to go outside and practice, and that child is lazy as sin and never wants to practice anything, so we’re thrilled and hopeful that this interest won’t be fleeting.

We’ve been like this:

It has been four years since LM played, and it shows. He’s got to start from the ground up, pretty much. Throwing, batting, fielding…when I talked about running bases tonight and mentioned hitting a single, he asked what a single was and fully earned his Smalls nickname.

Lawd. But we’ll get there.

‘H’ is for Hit is not about Little Man getting a hit, though. Or being hit, for that matter. This one’s all about me, but in order to explain how the hit happened, I needed to give a little background.

Last night we went to the baseball field near our house to practice with LM a bit. Our yard is decently sized, but not big enough to practice batting without risking hitting a neighbor’s house. After LM went through the bucket of balls a few times, I decided it was my turn to see if I could still get the ball out of the infield. And boy did I:

I hit that ball hard enough to tear up the cover. It didn’t make it over the fence, but was close. This impressed Little Man greatly (“You wrecked that ball!). That helped restore my status as the cool parent, which I briefly lost after making him take back Call of Duty to Gamestop because it was too old for him. That felt good.

And ‘I’ is for “I hurt.” My shoulder is hurting like hell today. When I throw to LM in our yard, it’s small enough that I can sidearm it, which doesn’t bother my shoulder. Sidearming it didn’t work well at the much larger field, and I tried throwing normally a few too many times, so…ouch, much slippage of the shoulder. I was reminded that I’ll never play softball for real again, even in a church league, since I can’t for-real throw anymore. Boo. But I guess it’s not like I was going to start attending church full-time so I could play in that league, anyway. (‘H’ is also for Heathen!)

That’s enough words for now.


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