Disaster, disaster I say. The Typical Dad is writing this post from his …..OLD LAPTOP. The hinge on my beautiful, wonderful, useful, fun, (every good adjective that you can use to describe an inanimate object used to peruse the internet and work) convertible laptop is broken. My Lenovo Yoga is off to the random repair shop. I am using my 10-year-old (ok only 9) Acer Cheap-O laptop that will never die. It’s on its second battery. It’s an ugly beast of a laptop. It gets hot as Arizona in August (AKA Hades) any time I open more than 4 tabs on my browser. In fact, I may need an ice pack for my lap if I am to finish this post.
What does any of this have to do with my son finishing his Tee Ball season? Nothing! But, if you were writing a post with branding iron on your lap, you would make note of it as well.
G recently finished his first season of Tee Ball. It was cute of course. The kids don’t seem to care all that much about the game. They like to hit the ball and play in the dirt. That’s pretty much it. Everyone says that tee ball is important because it is all about the kids. I do believe that we all mean it, and the kids do learn some of the basics of playing baseball. But let’s face it. This is mostly for us, the parents. Say it together everyone “5 year olds do not care about baseball.” I’m sure a few do, but it would be hard to start a league full of teams with these rarities. Every 5 year old that I know would rather talk about their booties all day than field a ball. Still, we had a lot of fun.
I’m amazed at how many adults that it takes to get 10 to 13 kids through a 50 minute game. You need a parent at each base to get the kids to run to the correct place. A parent at home plate to help the kid bat. Two parents around the dugout to get the kids up to bat in the correct order wearing a helmet. That’s 6 adults to get about 12 kids to play a game. We have come up with a game so complicated that it takes 1 adult to every 2 kids for them to actually play it. Usually, kids can play a game and hope that no adult comes and ruins it for them. Yes, you might need an adult to break up the occasional fight, but they can usually manage to play all by themselves.
Reading this, you may think that I don’t like baseball. Actually, I really enjoy baseball, partially for its intricacies. It’s just that somehow I was the dad in the dugout trying to get these kids actually up to bat. The term “Herding Cats” comes to mind. No one knows when they bat, how to put on a helmet, where to put their gloves. I’m mostly trying to keep the peace and make sure that nobody gets hit with a bat.
In spite of all of this, we had a great season. The kids needed less and less direction as the season went on. No child was hit with a bat (though one coach was). The parents were all great. The police weren’t called to a game all year. It was great. And just as everything should be, every game ended with a pep talk and snacks. GO MUSTANGS.