The Phillies had their last game of the season.
And, honestly, I’ll miss it.
Because next year these kids move on
to actually counting strikes and outs and points.
You know, minor details.
I love watching the kids in their own little worlds during each game:
doing handstands in the outfield,
watching planes vs. pop flies overhead,
scrambling to get a ball they didn’t see coming
because they were waving to their parents in the stands.
This is my kind of baseball.
But my kid is getting quite serious about the game.
Memorizing Major League line-ups,
imitating pitchers and catchers I’ve never heard of,
claiming he will change his name when he grows up
to something more baseball-friendly
(such as Dustin Duke Rodriguez).
And he’s becoming a better player, too.
In that last game, he actually caught two balls
and the crowd went wild
(someone caught a ball!?).
I have a feeling I’ll be going to lots of games in future years,
thrilled to watch my boy engaged in one of his passions,
and feeling really weird about calling him Dustin Duke Rodriguez.
Beauty Tip: On a beautiful summer night, stop by a local ball field to cheer on kids you don’t even know.
