I Watched You...

I watched you on Wednesday evening.  I watched you and really took you in.  I took all of you in.  You are so wonderful, Cal.

I watched you from foul territory along the third-base line.  I was sitting with the other parents and grandparents.  It's finally happening.  I was sitting where Grandma and Grandpa had sat for so many years while I stood in your position.  It's my turn to be them, to watch my child play a team sport, to cheer for him and his teammates... to hurt, to press, to enjoy and to celebrate as he does.

I watched you while you waited for your turn to bat.  You were so put together.  Your shirt was tucked into your baseball pants so neatly.  You wore your green belt which matched your jersey.  That green belt is not functional, but it sure does contribute to your looking like a real baseball player.  Your white pants were already stained on the knees, which I learned from Grandma had happened during a play at the plate the inning before I had arrived.  Your green socks were, of course, tight against your calves, as every sock you wear is.  I wondered if you liked your new, low-top cleats. They're different.  You don't like change when it comes to shoes.  If you don't like them, I couldn't tell -- you strutted that sideline in them as if you'd been wearing that style for years.

I watched you lead cheers and chants for your teammates as they batted.  I didn't notice any other kid leading cheers.  You did.  "Let's go, Garrett, let's go!  Let's go, Garrett, let's go!"  Your teammates joined in immediately to make the cheer louder.  It didn't matter the skill level of the batter, either.  You supported every batter equally when you had the chance.

Prompted by your yelling to me, excitedly, "Mama, watch, I'm up next!", I watched you take your aggressive practice swings from the on-deck circle.  As if I needed a reminder.  I love that you're a righty who bats lefty, just like Robin Ventura.  I've always thought left-handed batters' swings were so much prettier than their counterparts'.  Your swing is already pretty.  I've seen it many times in our backyard; and I love that I am finally seeing it in action during a game.  I know you'll get 8 pitches to hit it fair, but my heart hurts a bit with every swing and miss.  It's not that I doubt you'll hit it fair; I just want it to happen for you and happen early in your at-bat, just in case you worry it won't happen as your at-bat progresses.  Not that you do worry.

I watched you playfully interact with your teammates, all of whom you only met within the last few weeks.  The way you talked and laughed with each other, it was like you'd known each other for months, possibly years, and not the few weeks that it really has been.  You don't hide from anyone.  You seem to draw people to you.  You're so likable, Cal.  Seeing this prompted me to tell Grandma about your friendship with Aria.  I told her how Aria's mom told her that she could invite one friend to her big brother's tenth birthday party a month ago, and she picked you!  As your mom, I couldn't have been prouder of you for being a likable kid -- friend -- to so many.

I watched you take your position at shortstop during one of the later innings.  I've already forgotten what you told me when I asked you what your favorite position was because it seems that you were meant to play the left side of the infield.  I watched the first three batters get on base, a common start to every inning for this league.  I watched the next batter hit a soft line drive toward you.  I watched you set yourself up to catch it.  You told me later that you were nervous as you waited for the ball to reach you.  If that was true, I didn't notice it; I knew you were going to catch that ball, and you did.  Of course the runners were running -- very few know not to at this age.  An unassisted triple play was actually possible!  I watched you try to figure out what to do next.  Go after what runner?  Tag him?  Tag the base?  It is confusing.  There were unsure runners everwhere.  It was made worse by everyone giving you directions.  You eventually made your way to third base before the runner did, so he was out; but the kid who had been on second somehow made it back before you tagged him.  No worries -- you got him with the next batter who hit a ground ball to you -- you fielded it cleanly and proceeded to tag the runner as he ran in front of you.  This was the second game where I saw you make all three outs in the inning!  You smiled so shyly after doing so, and I thought, "Smile big, kid!  Smile and show everyone how much you loved doing that!"  Oh, I was proud -- you should have been, too!

I watched you, Cal D.  I watched you be wonderful.  I watched you be the kid that I know you are.  Happy.  Thoughtful.  Skilled.  Handsome.  Proud.  Forgotten as I did so were the fights and tensions we've had to correct some bad choices you've made... hitting your sister, lying about sneaking snacks, not cooperating when we ask you to do something. These are such insignificant things in the grand scheme of being you.  They were easily forgotten as I watched you.  What I saw on Wednesday night when I watched you througout your game epitomized the grand scheme of being YOU.  I'll revel in that forever.

I love you.