Play Ball

I dream of playing catch with my children. One day, years from now, we’ll stand in a square in the backyard tossing a baseball to each other. We’ll discuss our lives, from the mundane, such as how school was today, to the massive, such as how all those hours I forced them to play catch in the backyard honed their bodies, into lean, mean, athletic-scholarship-earning-so-daddy-doesn’t-have-to-pay-for-college machines.

My kids can’t really catch yet unless it’s a soft toss from short range after ample warning. They can’t really throw yet, either; the surest way to avoid being hit with a ball they throw is to stand directly in front of them because it’s going behind them or, at best, straight into the air. So we just play ball. I throw the ball; they track it down and return it to me at their leisure.

Ian brought me one of our many soft oversized outdoor balls tonight. These are perfect for toddlers to throw, catch, and bean their siblings with since they’re too soft to cause damage. I threw the ball for him. Ian obliged by running after it and retrieving it for me.

Tory quickly noticed the fun, and wanted to join. I tossed the ball to him, and he ran after it. About the time he caught up to it, Ian tackled him from behind and bit his back to steal the ball. I was very disappointed in Ian because he’ll need to be more discreet when stealing the ball if he’s going to earn a scholarship in any sport unless they start handing out rugby scholarships in the next 15 years. After a few more tosses, I determined how close I needed to throw the ball to Tory and how long I needed to detain his brother before he could retrieve the ball.

By this time Abbie wanted to join. I threw the ball to a neutral position so each child could have an equal chance to grab the ball and get bit first. Ian arrived a split-second before Abbie. Abbie responded by shoving him as he bent over to pick up the ball, giving her an open path to grab the ball.

When she brought it back to me, we had the 14,028,059th talk about not shoving her brothers. She repeated, “do not push brothers” to me as the boys gathered around. I again threw the ball to a neutral position. This time Abbie shoved Ian to the ground at the start, and chased after it. While I was disappointed in her insistence on shoving Ian, I was pleased to see her demonstrating solid fundamentals on jamming a wide receiver at the line of scrimmage. If colleges start handing out scholarships to women’s football players in the next 14 years, I may have a budding cornerback on a free ride in my house.