Marc Kaye learned a valuable lesson while playing baseball with his son; sometimes showing up is all you need to do.
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It may come to some of you as a surprise that I have been way more forthcoming – to anyone – about having a colonoscopy than the fact that I spent late nights on YouTube two summers ago trying to “teach” myself the basics of pitching a baseball in order to impress my son. Because who doesn’t learn how to do a sport by watching videos?
Maybe I should backtrack a bit. I don’t have two left feet. I have whatever the dyslexic version of athleticism is. The only difference is that those with true dyslexia have normal intelligence. I do not have normal athleticism.
It hasn’t been for lack of trying. Basically, I stick to running, lifting and swimming. My chance of pissing of an entire team or hurting someone in the process is greatly reduced.
But back to drinking 5-hour energy to take prolific notes from You Tube pitching videos.
My son loves baseball. Let me restate – lives for baseball. He loves sports but really loves baseball and though I spent time catching, throwing, hitting – even pitching to him in the field so he could bat, when it came to teaching him how to pitch himself – well, let’s just say that was a disaster waiting to happen.
I had notes, print-outs and links to the videos. Right after school, he came to me and said “dad, can we practice pitching now?” and despite any reservations I may have had, I said “sure.”
I attempted to impress him with my knowledge of different grips, only to have him correct me. Then, when it was time to actually pitch, I dropped down in the position of the catcher and let him throw away.
He was actually getting them over the plate (as far as I could tell) and got some good ones in. The only problem was that I sucked as a catcher.
That’s when I got hit in the forehead. I don’t think it was a CC Sabathia 90 mile per hour fastball, but it was a hardball…that hit my head….after being thrown…at my head….and it hurt. Did I mention it hit my head? I forget.
The scene that ensued was as follows: I dropped everything running toward the door to get inside, not exactly seeing anything but “feeling” my way best I could. My son ran after me asking me if I was alright to which I replied “oh, yeah – no problem – I just want to check it out” in the most convincing way possible.
For some reason, rather than run to the fridge for some ice, I ran immediately into the bathroom and locked the door, attempting to dunk my head in water – as if a wet face and mop of hair would disguise the enormous melon growing between my eyebrows.
My son stood outside the door just to make sure and as my head pounded, I told him that I was “just going to go to the bathroom as long as I’m in here”, thinking that the swelling would go down by some miracle.
I exited the door announcing “I’m fine – that was quite a pitch” to which he replied, “Dad – I’m over here.”
Needless to say, my pitching days are over. His never really began. But baseball is in full swing (pun intended) and he has never asked anything from me other than to show up.
Sometimes showing up is all you need to do.
Your DIP (Dad In Progress),
Marc Kaye
Photo: Notzmana/Flickr