I carried his equipment as we left the park that day. The last game of the season was over and it was time to go. As we reached the steps to the parking lot, my son of five years, stopped me and said, “Daddy, I forgot to ask when Monday’s practice will be.” Acting very casual, I replied, “Son, there will be no more practice, the season has ended and baseball is over.” As soon as I had said that, I realized that he knew nothing of seasons in sports and the tears began flowing down his cheeks. I could tell his heart was broken because he could not play any more. As I hugged him, I explained that just this season was over, that in the spring, there would be another one. That it would not be long before winter would be gone and we would be back. This seemed to satisfy him and I wiped the tears away. Little did I know that this same scene would be played out again in my life.
Seventeen years later, on a field at Auburn Montgomery University, another game ended and another season was over. As a senior player, this was the end of my son’s baseball career. His mom and I waited for him at the dressing room and as he turned the corner, once again I saw those tears streaming down his face, but this time I had no magic words for him. For there would be no more seasons for my little boy. We all cried and we all hugged, for his seasons were truly over.