The boy struggled. There was a lot of pressure. Some didn't believe in him- at times he didn't believe in himself. So much he wanted, so much he wanted to prove, so many disappointments and near misses. Heartbreak breeds character and his grew. His parents heard what a great kid he is and how proud they should be of him. And they were. But, they, too, dreamed of his break out moment- of that defining moment when he owned what he was capable of and got to taste just a little bit of victory over fear and anxiety and frustration.
His coach grew tired of the "Put me in" and did just that. He took the mound and his mother sat in the car and watched him play on the radio, feeling every pitch. Her confidence in him never wavered but her heart couldn't watch. Baseball is such an up and down game. One day you're on top, one day you're striking out. To an outsider lacking true passion for the game it can feel very cruel.
His father watched from the fence also feeling every pitch and smiling, knowing the boy was doing well.
It wasn't until the top of the last inning that his father realized the boy was throwing a no hitter. The boy himself hadn't realized it- just remained focused on getting that win. As the last pitch was thrown, the last out made, the announcer congratulated the boy and it hit him. His father ran to him and both were overcome with emotion. They embraced.
To the outsider this was simply that; an embrace, a congratulations, a celebration of the boy's first no hitter.
To me it was a metaphor. It was one I will cherish. The boy running to his father, the father running to the boy- both realizing that the boy had thrown his first no hitter-
both realizing that the father was there to see it...
No comments:
Post a Comment