Author: Gerry

The boy had a good game last night in his coach pitch outing. Apparently he clobbered the ball for a standup double and was the only one to do so. I missed it because I was working with the lass’ T-ball team since the coach there decided to schedule the practice for last night. Not terribly convenient, but what can you do? The Wife got to see the big moment anyway.

Unfortunately, the boy truncated his moment of glory. A couple of batters later, with the boy still on 2nd and another runner on 1st, the batter hit the ball right to the 3rd baseman. The boy, not totally understanding baseball yet, saw that he was an easy out so he chose not to run to third so he couldn’t get tagged. He was very upset to find out his scheming didn’t have the desired result.

On the way home, as I was trying to explain the whole “force out” thing, the boy got very defensive and, in a moment of clarity and insight rare for one so young, spat out “Well, then baseball is stupid!” I paused long enough to rejoinder “That’s a conversation for another day…”

The boy has moved up another belt rank in his martial arts training. The change moved him into another class and yesterday was his first time participating. It was a completely different class from either of his previous ones.

When he started a little over a year ago, the classes taught the basic techniques but the instructors didn’t demand much technically. Mainly, they wanted the kids to listen, follow instructions, and have fun. And not necessarily in that order. I had my doubts about what exactly they were learning, but having coached some T-ball and observed other athletically oriented activities I came to realize that, for the age, not expecting much was how it had to be.

In the fall, he moved up into a new class with older kids. This class was different. A little anyway. The instructors were less forgiving of silliness and worked on technique a little more. But still, the classes themselves were not strenuous and there was still a focus on keeping it fun. They also started learning Korean terms for the kicks, punches, and customs. Still, in all, it was clearly geared for younger kids.

The class he is now in is completely different from the others. The simplest way to describe it is it’s in line with the stereotypical martial arts class. The kids are worked harder and challenged more: to be faster, technically proficient, and to be smart. There is also almost no tolerance for silliness or disobedience. The younger kids were mildly upbraided for two slights yesterday- talking while the instructor was talking (before class had even officially begun) and not listening to a higher ranking student (by belt) who warned them to quiet down and listen. The other side of that coin is the instructors efforts to teach proper technique in that class were more than anything I’d previously witnessed.

So after all that, what was the boy’s impression?

“That class was hard.” Those were his exact words when the class ended. He then lamented about being the “worst one there.” Which I didn’t think was true, but even if I grant it was I told him he shouldn’t be upset about it. After all, a year ago when he started, he had no idea how to do any of this stuff. He’s steadily improved to the point where he’s now in the highest children’s class the dojo offers.

But his initial reaction wasn’t far off in many ways. The class was definitely harder than what he’d been exposed to previously. He’ll have to adjust accordingly. The Wife and I will have to help him through it. Just like we always have.

Supposedly, a 4-leaf clover is a genetic mutation that appears in every 10,000 clovers or so. Now, the growing season is still young so we don’t actually have that many clovers. But come the middle of the Summer, we’ve typically got plenty of patches around the yard.

Which made the boy’s feat yesterday noteworthy: he found not 1, but 2 4-leaf clovers. The Wife pulled the “It’s-OK-to-tell-Moms-Your-Wish” routine and he revealed one of his wishes to be a trip to Gamestop. Guess he’d like to get some new DS games or something.

The boy’s mouth is now fully outfitted with gear. He has wires on the top and bottom and rubber bands for tension to start correcting his cross bite. It only took the orthodontist 10 minutes to get it all done- not knowing what to expect, I was surprised how quick it was.

The boy was OK with it at the office, but the reality of it has been settling in since then. He has to learn how to attach the rubber bands himself because he isn’t supposed to wear them when he eats. One of the implications hit him when we got home- eating lunch at school. For the moment, he doesn’t want to go to school. Although he’s also bemoaning his getting the elastics in the first place.

Growing up I remember the old mantra “It builds character” (Not that it was used on myself a lot, but it’s a pretty familiar parental quip). I’d say the boy is experiencing that sort of thing now.

One thing this past weekend’s experience with the boy has me wondering is when did I learn how to play baseball?

I’m wondering this because it’s clear that the boy has no idea how the game is played. He doesn’t understand being out, or how to play in the field, or how to run the bases. None of it. And the thing of it is I can’t find fault with his ignorance. When I sit and think about it I can’t really think of any reason why he should know any of it. Last year was the first time he’d played any organized baseball, and the version we played was so far from actual baseball rules that it can only be considered a primer in the sense that we got to bat and play in the field.

The thing is, I’ve never played organized baseball either. I didn’t play in Little League or high school or any rec leagues. Never. I played ‘catch’ with the Father (as he is now so dubbed for blog purposes- I briefly considered “the Patriarch” but; however amusing to myself, it didn’t seem like a good fit) a plenty growing up. He also used to pitch to me in our backyard. I even remember having a black, Pete Rose baseball bat that I beat to death. I remember practicing batting by hitting rocks across the road with it. That did a number on the bat.

But I don’t ever remember having baseball explained to me, and yet I also can’t remember ever not knowing how to play baseball. For that matter, I don’t really remember having any games that we played explained to us. I can only assume that I just learned by watching other kids play, or by jumping in and figuring it out on the fly.

So how to relate to the boy? Initially, I’ve been assuming that he’ll figure the game out by participating and observing. The catching, hitting and throwing(the physical aspects of the game), he’s picking up on just fine. But he isn’t picking up on the rules of the game at all. He’s not alone either as a number of his teammates’ fathers have also related similar experiences with their boys. Yet all of them also understand how to play baseball. But this isn’t the case for all the boys- some of them definitely understand how the game is played.

Perhaps it’s a result of him not watching a lot of TV generally, and sports in particular. But I can’t really remember sitting in front of the TV watching sports other than football; though, perhaps my memory is failing me here. By the same token, the couple of times we’ve tried to sit and watch a game, he hasn’t really shown much interest in watching. Not that I can blame him- regular season baseball is tough to watch. Plus, most times the games are on at bad times- like after his bed time, or during the afternoon on a beautiful day.

Given his game schedule (two games a week), I’m confident that the situation will be largely rectified by the end of the season. But I can’t help but feel like I failed him in some small way here. Sure, baseball is hardly the most crucial part of growing up. But at the same time, it was clearly a part of my growing up and understanding it is crucial to being able to appreciate why football is a vastly superior sport.

A final interesting thought- will he find himself in a similar situation some day? For that matter, perhaps I don’t remember my own childhood correctly and the Father was wondering similar things while I was growing up. If that’s the case, then it isn’t a kid thing. It’s a parent thing.

We visited a science center recently and one of the interactive exhibits had one of the old tavern puzzles. The Old Shackles variety to be specific. Both of the kids were instantly smitten with them and that’s when the Wife informed them that we had a whole bunch of them at home.

I’d totally forgotten about them until she had mentioned it. We not only had the same one as at the science center, but a number of others. I recall first coming across them in high school. They were fun to work out even if they were all twists on the same basic principles. The lone exception was the Patience Puzzle– a very appropriately named challenge. It literally took years of on and off work on it before I finally solved it.

Anyway, I pulled all of them out for the kids and they had a blast with them for about 5 minutes. When they realized that they couldn’t figure them out, the puzzles lost their luster. The boy, particularly, got very frustrated with my old version of Old Shackles. He had been able to solve the one at the science center, but couldn’t solve mine. Naturally, something had to be wrong with mine.

It’s a familiar pattern with him now. Any kind of new challenge turns into a tremendous exercise in frustration. He thinks he should be a master of whatever he chooses to do and when reality bites, well, he doesn’t like it.

As for me, I’ve managed to solve them all again, including the Patience Puzzle. If that means that I’ve learned patience, then there’s still hope for the boy.