Out of My League

ro∙mance (rō-măns’, rōmăns’)

n.

1.a. A love affair. B. Romantic involvement; love.

2. A mysterious or fascinating quality or appeal, as of something adventurous.

3.a. A medieval narrative telling of the adventures of heroes and extraordinary or mysterious love affair.

4. A story or film dealing with a love affair.

Romance is a very mysterious thing to me. So, let’s chat. Send me some feedback on what you think romance is. What is romantic to you? What is the most romantic thing your significant other has done for you? Respond to this post and I will add your response.

I was an Indian. Not like my Grandfather (yet I am an Indian like him) more like Mike Hargrove or Jim Thome. Okay, I started my baseball career wearing a uniform for the Pioneer Youth Association team called the Indians. The caps and stirrups were purple. I don’t know why. I was a first baseman like Hargrove and Thome. A big difference, other than they played in the big leagues, is I was (am) afraid of the baseball. I hear you laughing… not nice.

From second grade through graduating from high school I was a first baseman. Believe it or not I made the All District team in high school. Still, I was afraid of the ball. I’m not sure if my coaches knew it (how could they not)?

I have three kids. Three boys. The oldest boys, Drew and Tyler, are baseball players. I want my kids to be happy. I want them to be good. I want them to enjoy the sport because it’s fun. My fear has been my phobia of the ball flying at me, at my face, would be inherited by my kids.

I was watching Drew’s, my eldest’s, first game the other day and I was amazed at the way he approaches the ball. I would have turned my head to the side and moved so the ball would come next to me not at me. Drew is like a vacuum cleaner going directly at the ball. Seating it securely in his glove before popping it out and firing it over to first base. He has no fear of losing teeth… or an eye… or breaking his nose… I don’t get it yet I do… I had an epiphany.

I am putting my fears and failures on my kid. Not a great idea. It hit my that he doesn’t necessarily have the same fears that I had at his age. He’s not afraid of the ball. Good! He’s not afraid of contact. Good! He’s not afraid of girls. Not so good!

Bottom line… don’t put your fears on your kids. Let them experience life. Let them get some bumps and bruises along they way. Let them get their heart broken once or twice… it will mend healthier and heartier. Let them be kids. Let them enjoy what being a kid means. Don’t shield them from the wonder of growing and learning.

I’m still afraid of the ball… my boys aren’t… life is good!