On bein' a Grandpa.....

Kass and the boys are visiting this weekend and when I had learned about the upcoming trip to town earlier in the week I thought it might be fun to take the two older boys on a Rapid Transit ride to the Dallas Zoo.....

Well, that idea was quickly ixnayed even before I got the idea out of my mouth......."You'll lose one on the train....you'll lose one in the monkey cages....you'll forget how to get home".....whatever.... I still thought it might be fun.....but this morning, I think I understand now what was actually being said.

Brendon, my youngest grandson

When Caleb, my oldest grandson, arrived last night, I noticed he had a couple of rubber bracelets on his wrists much like kids wear these days....one was from church and I think one was from school.....

So, this morning while Nathan, my second oldest grandson, and I were messin' around in the kitchen, I saw a zip-tie laying on the counter...you know one of those plastic ties they are used everywhere to secure things including the wrists on criminals that cops arrest....because the ties are permanent until cut off.....(I think you know where I might be going)

 Well. I put the zip tie around Nathan's wrist so he could have a bracelet like his brother and just as I was snugging it up a little bit he kinda pulled his hand back and it got a little more snug than I expected....I thought I might just clip the end of it off, so it wouldn't have a chance of tightening even more and then it kinda dawned on me...."Uh, this probably isn't such a good idea"

 I got the scissors out of the drawer and figured I would just cut the thing off before anyone thought I was an idiot...well, as I slid the scissors under the tie what room that was left now began to tighten up on little Nathan's wrist....he said, "Grandpa that hurts"......well crap, just about that time I hear a fire truck siren wailing in the background (we live near a fire station) and I'm gettin' images flashing thru my mind that I dang sure don't want to have to take him to the fire satiation to get this thing off....

And then to add to the dilemma...I'm hearing voices from the living room saying..."What's going on in there?"....Obviously my reply was..."Um.. Nothing!" I tried to snip it off once again and Nathan now was gettin' a little more nervous and was saying.."Grandpa, don't cut me".......again more voices..."What's happening in there?"

So, I think I need to just get this snipped off, and smile and tell Nathan..."wasn't that fun?"......and I did just that and he kinda smiled back and that's when I realized..."Yeah, maybe I might hold off on the zoo thing until they are old enough to keep ME from gettin' lost in the monkey cage .........

"The Boys of Spring"

               All of my teammates either went on to Fairview, Chaminade or Colonel White.

As Winter fades into Spring, you can see the daffodils and tulips as they begin to push through the snow covered gardens.  And as the trees begin to show their buds ,  yet a new scent begins to waft it's way through the basements and garages as young boys and now young girls begin to massage their dried out leather ball gloves with oil, making the gloves flexible and able to scoop up that ground ball in the coming days.

The father/coaches begin to dust off their rosters from the previous season lamenting the loss of their number four hitter who has moved on to the next older division. But this will be the year. ...This will be the championship year as they plot each inning, each pitch, each decision,  long before the first pitch will be thrown.

Coaches are born, not made...just like the young charges that will come before them. Good coaches have the gift of compassion, the wisdom of Solomon and the patience of Job.......they have to be...they will leave an imprint in the lives of the innocent followers for the rest of their lives.

My close friend while growing up, Eddie,  retells the story of a coach that he and I had when we first started our careers in baseball. Although he was our coach, he was also my dad. I didn't witness the conversation, but if Eddie says it happened...you can bet your Willie Mays baseball card it happened.

Our official baseball world took place at Triangle Park in Dayton, Ohio. There were three small fields that bordered the Stillwater River and we would practice on the dirt fields and play our games on Friday nights. There were six teams in the league, and as Eddie likes to remember, the kids that played for Inland Mfg. all had beards and probably drove their own cars to the game.

One sunny afternoon during practice while we were catchin' fly balls or tryin' to field that hot grounder apparently, one of our teammates had an "accident" in his britches and the tears began to roll down his cheeks. He was embarrassed beyond belief and knew he would be labeled for the rest of his life.

Our coach (my dad) walked over to the young boy and asked why he was crying...The boy whimpered as he tried to tell my dad what had happened.

Dad was simply a hard working man without any formal education but he was a father of 3 boys...so he knew what to do.

As Eddie recounts the story...in  my Dad's Stengalese wisdom,  he proceeded to  put his arm around the young soul and said..."Son. all of us have accidents....all of us  make mistakes....I'm a man, I'm married and even I have crapped in my pants......but what you do from then on is what is important....you wipe your butt  off....you wash away the tears and you go out and try harder".

It wasn't profound but Eddie says the scene stayed with him over the years and he remembered how important coaches can be in our lives.

So here's to the lads who will wait for the snow to melt away....wait for the grass to begin to sprout and listen for the sound of "Play Ball" as yet another season begins.