Lifes Curveballs

My son plays baseball. It’s his thing. And because it’s his thing. It’s my thing. It gives me joy to watch him play. I’m his biggest fan. Which I tell him often and I’m sure causes the internal eye roll.

From t-ball to present we’ve spent every summer at the ballpark. He is a skilled player, excellent command of the game and great defensive skills. He doesn’t have the biggest bat in the line-up but he consistently executes. He’s practices hard and has earned his way onto all-star teams for being a solid versatile player. He has never hit a home run. He doesn’t pitch with the same velocity as a kid who has 6 inches and 30lbs on him. When other boys were growing 4-5 inches in a summer and smacking the ball out of the park, he was consistently one of the smaller players on the team. He’s had to work a little harder than some of the bigger boys to be noticed and hone his skills.

Baseball has provided many life lessons. As clichéd as it sounds baseball has taught the value of teamwork.

How to lead by example.

How to not be “that kid” that throws his bat or argues with the umpire.

How to be a gracious winner and a gracious loser.

How to hold your head up after taking a pounding on the field.

How to shake off hitting a batter, a strike out or multiple strike outs.

How to savor the moment of batting in the winning run during a district game or experiencing a hitting streak.

The good with bad. The sweet and the bittersweet. The wins and the losses.

All good life lessons.

In the big picture of life he has an awesome youth baseball experience. His hard work has paid off. He has been privileged to play on an All-Star team every year since he was 10. He has been on a district winning team and a state winning team. He represented his state in the Regional tournament. All things being equal – baseball has been more fair, than unfair, to my son.

Until this year.

One of the challenges of growing body, is it’s growing. Youth athletes are not fully matured physically, yet they are put through their paces. Injuries are bound to occur.

At age 13 it was “Little League Elbow” – kind of fancy name for growth plate irritation and overuse; which made sense. That was “the summer” of non-stop baseball; games, practices and lots of throwing. His body sent a warning signal. Please stop. Rest. Heal. And he did. He worked hard. He did physical therapy. He built muscle mass. He refined his technique.

At age 14 he battled some bicep tendonitis. He rested. He iced and continued physical therapy. He did everything he was supposed to do. He had a good season.  He continued his PT through the winter.

At age 15, a mere four weeks into open gym conditioning for the spring season there is shoulder pain. Not soreness. But pain. Now in all fairness, the season hasn’t really started, so overuse can’t really be an issue here. But it causes concern so we trot off to Sports Medicine where we are delivered a nice curveball…. Little League Shoulder – another fancy name for growth plate irritation. LLS is normally caused by overuse (which doesn’t apply here) so it basically boils down to bad luck. He just has one of those bodies that have sensitive growth plates.

6 weeks rest. No throwing. No batting.

Tryouts are for the spring seasons are in 4 weeks.

Now as a parent I am the first one to say, life isn’t fair. It isn’t. But this is doubly unfair. It sucks actually. It’s a mammoth disappoint for a 15 year old to be faced with the possibility of missing the entire season just because his growth plates are sensitive. It is taking all of my parental acumen to look at the big picture and not break down into a puddle of tears.

It could be worse and it’s not. It’s fixable. It doesn’t require surgery. It isn’t a career ending injury.

It will force some challenging conversations with coaches, which is good experience. It will require honest self-assessment. It may mean he has to work doubly hard to make the team next year, if he misses the season. It will force showing up for open gym and participating in what he can, if only for political posturing. It will help him develop tenacity.

I have mixed feelings about a 15-year old being put into a position to have those conversations, but I am confident in the long run it will make him stronger, more confident and earn respect from his peers and coaches for facing a very difficult situation with grace and class.

I have confidence in his ability to weather the disappointment, if it comes to that. To come out the other side stronger. That all said, I would gladly take on this disappointment for him if I could.

In a heartbeat.

Handwritten Notes – A dying art form

I have a love affair with period drama. You know, Sense and Sensibility, Howards End and most recently Downton Abby. (If you’ve not heard of Downton Abby – rent Season One from Netflix. You’ll be glad you did. And Season 2 is currently being shown on PBS on Sunday nights and it was just released on DVD, so there is plenty of time to catch up).

There is a lot of letter writing in period dramas, lovely handwritten notes, eloquently articulated, on creamy thick paper before being precisely folded and sealed with wax. The letters are delivered on silver trays by the footman, while the recipient drinks tea and eats little cakes.

I have come full circle with my appreciation for hand-written notes. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to conclude that hand-written notes are a rarity in contemporary society. The explosion of social media has all but eradicated hand-written notes from the norms of our culture. I get it. I do. Email is fast. It’s quick. It’s easy. It doesn’t require a note card or a stamp much less remembering to get the note to the mailbox in a timely fashion. Let’s face it. Our lives don’t include the footman making deliveries on silver platters.

There are two events that have stirred my fondness for handwritten notes.

1. My disdain of “thank you notes” via facebook which you can read about here.
2. I received one, an honest to goodness handwritten note. An actual thank you that someone wrote on a paper card and mailed to me. And gee, it was nice to get something in mail that wasn’t a bill. I was touched the sender would take the time to write me something. And then mail it. With a stamp. Maybe it’s because I do know we all lead busier, more hectic lives and she didn’t take the easier way out.

So my goal for this year (notice how I’m not calling it a resolution since resolutions are dumb and almost always fail) is to write more handwritten notes. Because notes are nice and significantly more personal than an email typed in Arial 12pt font. Maybe it will prompt a resurgence of footman and tea drinking.

One can hope.