This spring, the first time my five-year-old was ever at-bat in T-ball, he hit a home run.
Granted, it was not the traditional over-the-fence shot; it was a traditional T-ball homer: the ball, when struck by my son, didn’t actually leave the infield. At least, not until a player on the opposing team scooped up the ball and threw it into right field. Then it was off to the races for my son.
And guess what? I got it on video. I was like one of those old-timey baseball photographers—you know the guys that would stand right by the batter’s box with their big flash cameras? That was me, up close to the action, except I had a digital camera set to video.
As a proud father, I have watched the video several dozen times. I have commented to friends that my son’s obvious athletic ability is apparent not necessarily in the way he runs, but in the natural way he drops the bat to the ground before taking off to first base.
“See that?” Pause, rewind. “See that?”
Following in the footsteps of his father, who long ago played America’s game, the boy clearly has a glorious future ahead on the diamond fields of grass and clay. Only one thing is stopping him: he has since decided that he hates T-ball and doesn’t ever want to play the game again.
This attitude became apparent by the next game, when he wanted to leave early. At the practice that followed, he refused to go on the field. We skipped the next game, and it was more of the same during the next practice.
The boy’s mother and I were flummoxed.
“But you hit a home run in your first at bat. Wasn’t that fun?” we asked.
“No, it was stupid. I hate it. I don’t ever want to play again.”
I, for one, took this personally. As a family, we believe in sports—for exercise, for learning teamwork, for building confidence. His mother and I huddled to decide what to do. There are many angles to consider, I found. Among them:
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