At the Risk of Overstating It For the Sake of Chasing Clicks For My Nearly Moribund Blog, Coaching My Son’s T-Ball Team This Summer Completely Changed My Life

“Let’s go, Galaxy, hustle!” I yelled as my son’s T-ball team, the Galaxy, ran out to play the field. “Pick your feet up, please!” I added when I saw several kids shuffling their feet through the infield dirt and raising a huge cloud of dust, which then drifted over to envelop the moms, dads, and grandparents sitting on camping chairs and blankets, watching the game.

Under normal circumstances, I would say that the very dusty field we played on was an annoyance because I had to constantly remind the five and six year-olds to not play with the dirt, throw the dirt, or kick the dirt.*

But since my blog is struggling for traffic and perhaps I should try a more upbeat tone to see if that works, I’ll instead say that the shenanigans with the dirt were a charming and precious surprise that reminded me of the wonder children have for the most mundane things. The saga with the dirt brought me a new appreciation for the joy and imagination of children. When I looked at the spectators at the end of the games and saw a mass of dust-covered people scowling at me, I couldn’t help but burst out in spontaneous and uproarious laughter. Those kids taught me to never take life too seriously.

“Andrew**, no!” I shouted. “Go to third!”

Cole** had just stepped up to the plate and hit a rarely-seen longball to center field. The other team had been clumped together in the infield, expecting the usual dribbler, but they suddenly flocked as one to the outfield in hot pursuit of the rocket that Cole had launched off the tee. 

Andrew, our baserunner on second base, saw the mass of excited ballplayers bolting out to center field and decided to tag along with them. 

My first thought was, “Great. Now the parents are going to think I haven’t taught anyone how to run the bases. It’s the last game of the season and the kids still don’t know the basic rules.”

But since my blog has averaged a mere 1.8 visitors per day for the past thirty days and maybe more people would read it if my posts weren’t so cynical and negative all the time, I’ll say this instead. Andrew’s hilarious baserunning blunder taught me to expect the unexpected. Assume nothing and always be prepared for one of life’s delightful surprises.

“Who’s the coach of this team?” an unfamiliar voice called out from behind me during a mid-season game. I turned around and saw a park district official standing behind the chain link backstop, holding a clipboard. 

“I am,” I answered.

“Everyone’s wearing a mask,” she said. “Every single player. Great job!” She gave me a thumbs-up before turning to leave.

Our team had an excellent track record for wearing masks. We followed the state and park district guidelines. Mask compliance wasn’t a struggle with my T-ball team. It wasn’t an ordeal. 

I credit an old teacher trick I used. The trick is called “pass the buck.” Passing the buck is tried and true. For example, a fourth grade teacher gets kids to write in cursive by saying, “In fifth grade, they don’t let you write in anything but cursive, so you might as well get used to it now.”

A seventh grade teacher gets kids to remember to bring a pencil to class by saying, “In eighth grade, the teachers don’t let you go back to your locker if you forget to bring a pencil to class. So I’m not doing it, either. I have to get you ready for eighth grade.”

Passing the buck works. It’s how I got my T-ball players to wear masks. I announced to the parents and kids at the first practice, “Everybody’s going to have to wear a mask when school starts up again in the fall, so we might as well get used to it now.”

I didn’t receive any pushback. Everyone wore a mask and all it took was periodic reminders. With everyone doing it, no one felt odd or out of place. 

Regardless of the fact that my blog is a ghost town right now, I will say in all honesty that sometimes kids do give me hope and inspiration. It was a fun season. It was a great group of kids. My son had a blast.

And now, if you drop one of his shoes on the ground, a large cloud of dust flies up into the air, just as if the shoe belonged to Pigpen from the “Peanuts” cartoon. 

The T-ball season is over, but the dusty memories remain.

*This wasn’t ordinary dirt. It was a fine and powdery dirt that they spread on the infield so that sliding and diving would be less painful. It was so soft, it was like handfuls of feathers scattered all over the field. It also floated around in the breeze just like feathers do.

**The children’s names were changed to protect their privacy.