In the midst of this epic beat down that we received where my son was continuously running to the fence to chase down a ball and throw it in I realized that I was actually enjoying watching him play in this game that, by any real sports standard, was pretty boring.
You know that point in life where you look up and realize that you’re probably just winging all of it. By “it” I mean life. I know I’m not telling you anything that you don’t already know, but I figured by the time I was 35 I would feel like an adult, have a clue about where I’m going, and have a long term plan.
Not so much.
I honestly don’t feel much different than I did when I was 20. I just feel like I’m a bit more in control of my own outcomes. As a 20 year old my life was still fairly structured by outside entities such as teachers, college administrators, and coaches.
Now, well, I’m in control. Well, maybe “control” is a better way to state this.
Nothing makes me feel stranger than to watch my kids though. Strange in the sense that here I am, basically a 35 year old kid, in charge of a 7 and a 5 year old. A kid in charge of kids. Lord of the Flies never felt more real! I remember feeling terrified before I had kids when I would think about baseball games and dance recitals because I’d only ever heard about people talk about how boring their kids events were and how much of a drag on their own lives and time it was.
I wasn’t terrified about keeping the kids alive and providing for them, I have always had more trust in my wife that is possible to express. I knew she wouldn’t let me do anything too stupid. I was just terrified of being bored. I’m constantly in motion. I have to plan out times to stop and be still and relax. Movement is my natural state so the thought of being bored at my children’s events was terrifying.
Something wonderful developed out of that fear though. I realized I’m not bored whatsoever. I’m actually excited. Really excited because I get to watch my kids do something they love to do. I realized this on Monday at my son’s baseball game. I’m coaching his team and we got destroyed by a much older and more seasoned team. I’ve never seen little kids hit the ball as hard and as far as the other team did. My son likes to play the outfield. He loves to run (and does it very well) and likes to try to chase down fly balls.
In the midst of this epic beat down that we received where my son was continuously running to the fence to chase down a ball and throw it in I realized that I was actually enjoying watching him play in this game that, by any real sports standard, was pretty boring. Boring to the tune of 20-0. But watching him get ready in the outfield and chase these balls down and turn and throw the ball, usually know where he was trying to throw it to even if his little arm isn’t strong enough to throw it all the way, was nothing less than joy inducing. I was disappoint that we lost and disappointed that my son’s first ever baseball game was a lopsided defeat. But I was anything but bored. I didn’t want to be anywhere else in that moment but to be watching the little dude do something that he loves to do.