Traveling across the midwest offers a kaleidoscopic view of life, generational influences flowing, merging, separating into pronounced strands. Life hangs in a balance that can’t be seen from the vantage point of being stationary. It’s the mixing and the motion that breathes life into the scenes, that makes each separate and unique, but related, and connected. Everything depends on everything else. Life needs movement to make sense, it needs motion for definition. Nothing ever happens by standing still.
There were several groups sharing our hotel with us, we had a table almost halfway between two of the more prominent teams at the evening snacks and drinks in the large area next to the lobby. Each group had a central table, an epicenter of activity, the place from which several satellite tables branched out in erratic streams of team spirit.
We were on the homeward leg of a long trip. We had been driving for days, staying over for a few nights, visiting family and friends, and then loading up and moving on. It had been tiresome, draining, and wonderful. It was nice to be anonymous and alone. It was even nicer to be able to do it in the middle of that humanity. There is no place to feel so completely isolated as a crowd.
Our table could have served as a listening post between two hostile camps; on either side of us was a gathering of delighted, enthusiastic young athletes freed from most of that pernicious, parental oversight. Bubbly, gregarious parents enjoying an evening of pre-tournament freedom and camaraderie, and a small nuclei of coaches, who had to worry about batting lineups, line drives, pop flies and unforced errors. All the pitfalls of successful youth athletic management. It can be a curse.
These were serious men, grim and austere in countenance, deeply tanned, wearing a light coating of dust from a dozen baselines and dugouts, that would last until September or October. Each head was topped by a perfectly faded, exquisitely weathered baseball cap with an engineer straight bill. Sitting, centered and precise on the bill was a pair of wraparound sunglasses, proudly displaying a residue of dust. They sat, noble, aloof, removed from the fracas and chaos of several teams of preteen baseball players running from one place to the next. Leaving trails of potato chip crumbs and broken pretzel pieces so they could always find their way back. In the middle of all the noise and movement, the coaches and the entourage sat, sharing an evening and sandwiches from chain food restaurants in the area. It reminded me of an old song;
“And though we, sung his fame
We all went hungry, just the same
He meant to shine
To the end of the line
We’ve seen the last of good, King Richard
Ring out the past, his name lives on and on
Roll out the bones and raise up your pitcher
Raise up your glass to good King John.”[1]
Every parent who ever purchased a baseball glove, a basketball, football pads, soccer cleats, a tennis racket, or golf clubs has spent at least a few minutes contemplating the riches provided by athletic exceptionalism. Normally, it only lasts for a season or two, sometimes the first real game can disabuse them of the notion. But, the thrill of watching an offspring compete at a tournament in a distant city is powerful magic.
If you can spend a couple evenings enjoying the company of a group of people who have at least a passing interest in the success of your child and savor the freedom of a weekend away from yard-work, house-work, all the responsibilities associated with adult life, it’s worth the price of a motel room, the tournament entry fee and the uniform costs. Not to mention the fee to place your offspring on a travel team, and pitching in for snacks and drinks at games, paid skill camps throughout the year, traveling through the season and all the other fees associated with participation.
These parents have worked hard, saved and budgeted, possibly they used some vacation time to enjoy this time just outside of the spotlight. If they are a little relaxed about behavior and it’s hard to blame them. Life is difficult, it takes most of a person’s free time just to stay in one place. If you want to get ahead, you really have to be willing to push the boundaries a little. When they get a chance to let their hair hang down they need to bounce over the everyday responsibilities and walk in the carefree world of indifference.
“Dominic, you hardly touched your curly fries.” A voice rang out from one of the inner tables.
One of the uniformed children walked slowly over to the table, popped a sagging French fry into his mouth, and hurried back to his teammates, a blur of movement. They were standing next to the decorative fountain beside the elevator seeing who could spit the farthest. Dominic had a distinct disadvantage, having just finished a soggy curly fry.
Our time ran out, or at least our free drink tokens, so we left the party to the young and mobile, and their parents, in a few cases, their grand parents, and went to our room. We had spent so much time in the car, our room seemed palatial, and by comparison the quiet of the 6th floor was golden.
In the morning, the scene was repeated over omelets, pancakes, bacon and hash browns. Amoeba like groups of baseball players flowed between the islands holding the food in large aluminum bins. It was twelve hours later and completely different but nothing had changed. Movement and motion was still the main attraction, but it had shifted.
“No, Robert. You can’t have a pop. You have to compete today.” Robert, with solemn duty, sat his glass on the counter and went to get a plate. While he filled it with bacon and pancakes, his mother went to sit with the other parents. Robert filled a glass with soda, drained it and filled it again. Robert wasn’t so worried, and his mom had registered her instructions and washed her hands of the situation. And then she moved on, Robert had his drink of choice, and went his way.
It was a blur of children, dancing for the cameras, racing down the hallway, riding elevators up and down. Parents combining into groups, splitting apart, all the intrigue, smiles and laughs, the sound of joy following them, ghosts of so much fun. Another cup of coffee, and another trip to the toaster for a half a bagel, or a pastry, voices trailing behind them like clouds of wishful thinking.
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