Put Me In Coach, I'm Ready to Play...Or Maybe Not...

T-Ball. The very word makes me anxious lately.  Why? Because we are gearing up for another season of "fun" on the field. The entire idea makes me feel like one heavy sigh....

Let me backtrack: Ryder started playing t-ball exactly one year ago.  I will never forget how excited I was last March when we signed him up for 4 year old t-ball in our local Coosa Valley baseball league.  I made sure he looked the part on his first day of practice.  Shaun and I had gone to Academy, and with giddy, we purchased all of the necessities for the season (plus some): balls, bats, pants, glove, socks, hat, helmet, bases, tee,  etc. On the day of his first practice, I had to work late. After I finished, I hurried to the field expecting to find a rambunctious and happy four year old adorably chasing baseballs.

Nope.

Instead, he spent the majority of the practice crying, throwing his head back and wailing "WHAHHH" and making dirt angels on the ground.  In the moments he didn't cry, he certainly wasn't paying attention.  Now, we had certainly faced some exhausting moments before this one with Ryder, but for some reason, this totally shocked and embarrassed me.  I immediately felt like crying myself, but instead, I opted to just bail and leave.  (you may have read a portion of this story in my blog It's a Hard Knock Life, For Us...Parent's That Is)

That moment is when the initial worry and fear set in concerning who Ryder was, what his talents were and how he acted with others.  Irrational fear, for sure, but still, I was faced with something I hadn't expected: he was the odd man out and the kid who looked the most out of place on the field, in my mind anyways, and I couldn't help but start visualizing him as becoming the kid who somehow didn't fit in off the field too.

All season, I felt a knot in my stomach when it was practice or game day.  Sure, I would smile and laugh on the outside, but on the inside, I was expecting him to fall apart. Keep in mind he was four years old, probably an immature four year old at that, but I couldn't help feeling almost embarrassed if he had an unsuccessful practice or game.  I knew that was silly beyond words, yet I still worried that his inability to focus and his almost spastic behavior at times was going to follow him into adulthood. (Don't pretend like you have never judged a kid on his behavior: a kid has a meltdown or even just acts goofy in Walmart, a restaurant or anywhere else and you make assumptions on the kid and/or the parenting choices of the kid's mom and dad. We've all done it.) My worry was one that I think all parents (or at least those willing to admit it) have: worry that our kid will somehow not fit in with the other kids.

We live in the South  and in the South, sports are a given.  Shaun was athletic and played multiple sports growing up, including running track and playing football.  Now, as for me, I wasn't the most athletic person ever growing up, but somehow that seemed OK because I was a girl. I tried telling myself that Ryder was just a baby and that he would eventually develop an interest in sports. During particularly rough games, I would joke about his athletic prowess. If I am being honest, I did it out of my own insecurity.  Later when I would look into his blue eyes and chubby cheeks, I would feel guilty for joking about his performance, as harmless as I thought it was at the time. It's like the girl who makes a fat joke at her own suspense before anyone else can.  I do not want to tear Ryder down; I want to build him up in a healthy way.  I also don't want to become the parent who obsesses about a sport and ruins the fun of it for my kids.   And honestly, I wasn't even that obsessed about winning, I just didn't want Ryder to be the reason we were losing and cause other team parents to see him as the team distraction. 

 I love Ryder more than anything in the entire universe, and all I want is his happiness.  And I think in my weird way, I thought his awkwardness on the field or the possibility of him maybe never excelling in sports would make him unhappy, cause him to be made fun of or bullied (which is another irrational fear I have; I say irrational since I never dealt with bullying firsthand, yet for some reason, I fear it for my kids) and all any parent really wants is for his or her child to be happy and fit in. 

Back to t-ball.  Somehow we pushed through our ten games and Ryder did show much improvement on the field, meaning he didn't fall out crying during the games, but I still ended the season being very much aware of his place on the team as occupier of the outfield, where his unfocused little blonde self could spin circles happily without interfering with the more skilled or serious players.

September rolled around and with it came fall ball (because once a year is not enough).  We decided to play again in the hopes that if we made him play again, he would continually improve. Thankfully, we were able to get on pretty much the same team with the same coaches who knew Ryder and also knew how to deal with his lack of attention and athletic prowess.  One thing that did make my outlook more hopeful for fall was the fact that Ryder, who had been formally diagnosed with ADHD over the summer, had started medicine to help with his focus (that is an entirely different blog).  In all honesty, the fall t-ball experience was admittedly more enjoyable than the spring before it.  The medicine surely made a difference in Ryder's over all behavior, and we were seeing that in every aspect of his life, on and off the field. Shaun began working more with Ryder one-on-one, and we really started to see improvement, but the one thing I started to notice was that Ryder really had (and still has) no great interest in outside play, period. He would practice in the same way he did homework.  He would do it, he just didn't want to. Ever.  And although he liked the games, he would come off of the field not with total excitement over the game he had just played, but instead asking if I had the iPad with me.  And even at home when we would go outside to simply play, no baseball involved, he wasn't very interested for very long.  In general, he gives out and gives up quickly when it comes to outside activities. It just isn't his "thing" so to speak.    

Ryder is a tech kid.  He can operate an iPad, iPhone or gaming system like an adult.  This caused me to develop even more concern.  I worried about him spending too much time on electronics, not being able to play face-to-face with others, and I decided the effects of making him play a sport would be beneficial.  I believed (and still do) that he needed t-ball to help give him a reason to get outside, interact with others and to give him a break from the Wii. I hoped it would be a skill and hobby that he would grow to like and one that would push him to do more than just build Legos and beg for Minecraft and Harry Potter Wii games. I want him to be active and healthy.  But Ryder's desires are often elsewhere.  When I pick him up from extended day, he is usually in the corner building Legos, sometimes with others and sometimes alone if no one elsewants to build Legos.  The workers have even jokingly informed me that he will frequently ask if he can go back inside when they go to the playground at extended day because he had rather be indoors playing with blocks and Legos than outside running around.  It isn't that I don't see the fun in Legos or even games, but I just don't want his only extracurricular activity in school to be president of the Dungeons and Dragons club, know what I mean?  

Overall though, fall ball was more enjoyable than spring ball, but it did introduce a challenge I had not faced during 4t: practicing and playing baseball games during the week while also going to real school.  Long days in school, followed by afternoon practices and homework were definitely an adjustment for me and Ryder.  Overall, he enjoyed the games and the other kids, but late night games after a day of school and homework were sometimes (and still are) a recipe for disaster.   Managing homework (oh yes, nightly homework in kindergarten) and t-ball and a toddler and a job stressed me out, but we managed.  
     
Back to the present: So here we are again, back to spring t-ball. Tonight is the first game, and I am a bit anxious (especially since over half the games don't even start until 7pm, a bit late for any five year old, especially one who is easily distracted and may not wholeheartedly want to be there.)  He is, however, excited over the hoopla that has gone into getting ready for a new season (i.e. new outfit and cleats.  It is like dress up to him.)  So tonight we go to the field, and continue to do so twice a week for two months, and I hope for no meltdown, will try not to obsess over the ridiculous and promise to let him just have fun.  Because that's the one thing that sometimes I forget, especially after an especially bad practice or game, that this is meant to be fun.

I am also realizing he may not be who I thought he was. And that is OK.  He is great. Period.  I recently read an article about parents being happy with their children even if they turn out to not be what they thought they were going to be (Jack doesn't become a doctor but instead is a mechanic, Susie makes Cs in school, Becky isn't the prom queen) and it really made me think.  Jason Sanders poses the question in his blog Would That Be Okay?, "What if your kid never really does all that great in sports? While all of his friends are making diving catches and hitting home runs, the only action he sees is during practice. In right field. Where he likes to pick flowers and see how long he can stare at the sun before blinking. Oh, and that’s when he’s in the 11th grade. Would that be okay?"

Wow. Hit home for me, that's for sure.  I realized that A.) I am not the only worrier wanting my child to be a success, and B.) I would probably be worried about who he is and who he is becoming no matter what, even if he was the Cal Ripken of Coosa Valley t-ball.  I think what I have worried about isn't even really about sports; sports just happen to be the catalyst to cause me worry since he is not as skilled at it as he is at everything else.  I'm sure if he were struggling severely in school, I would be worrying irrationally over intelligence and future careers.  I have to just step back, let him be the best inquisitive, rambunctious and unfocused five year old that he is and be happy because that little boy is exactly the little boy God wanted me to have.       

So as I gear up for a season of t-ball fun with a little boy who may or may not want to go to games, who may or may not get into trouble for not paying attention, who may or may not be more concerned over whether or not his mom will buy him a new Wii Disney Infinity character than focusing on the field, I just have to remember to let him be him.  And when I see those other parents who act like the world is ending when their kids mess up or the team doesn't do good, I will just smile and know that no matter how Ryder acts, I will always be happy with him and for him, even if instead of saying "put me in coach" he says "I don't want to play, coach."