June 30

Sometimes I hate baseball.

Brady's team played in a tournament this weekend. They won rather easily yesterday. Brady didn't play in that game, save a stint as a pinch runner and one at-bat. But I didn't think much of it because there were more games to come and he's too good a player to sit for too long.

When they took the field for today's first game, he was once again on the bench. I wasn't delighted, but oh well -- he could always come in to pitch in relief. Or something. But that didn't happen.

The defense was a bit sloppy at times and they didn't convert several offensive opportunities, so they lost, which meant they had to play and win another game this evening in order to earn a berth in the championship game tomorrow evening. 

When that next game started, Brady was on the bench. Again. Honestly, I was angry. Really, really mad. He hasn't had much playing time over the past month and it's painful to see him standing alone in the dugout game after game, especially when I know how capable he is. When he's shown up for every practice and let the other kids go first and picked up balls so others didn't have to. When he's stayed behind to pack up gear and scurried behind the backstop to pick up foul balls. So I got up and watched from afar for a while, and prayed for the ability to keep myself in check because I could feel mama bear rising to the surface and I needed to keep her caged.

Anyway, the game didn't start off well at all. (I wasn't super surprised given that the lineup was much the same as the first game.) Our defense wasn't working, our kids weren't doing much offensively, and the other team --the same team that they so easily defeated yesterday-- quickly cruised to a five-run lead. 

And then at long last, with the bases loaded and one out in the third inning, something different happened: Brady came in to pitch. 

He let one inherited runner score and gave up a single run of his own later on, but he was, in short, fabulous. He pitched 4 2/3 innings --including a 4-pitch 7th-- and looked cool and calm on the mound. He had his curveball working early on, and when that pitch is working, it's nasty. (Ask the kid who struck out swinging wildly at a ball that hit the catcher's mitt an inch off the ground.)

In the end, they lost because our kids weren't able to get the bats going and the deficit was too much to overcome, but Brady's contribution to the effort was outstanding. I don't think I could be prouder of how he handled himself.

Still, the frustration lingers. Why did he sit for so long? I don't know. I may never know. But I hated sitting there watching him watch his teammates play, knowing that he wanted to be out there, too. Knowing that he could play at least as well as they were playing. Realizing that he was probably thinking that he sucked as a player because why else would he still be on the bench. My heart ached for him and I wanted to scoop him up and get him out of there and buy him an ice cream. Or a kitten. Or something that would override all of those feelings of inadequacy that were no doubt bubbling under his stoic surface. I wanted to rescue him from all of those feelings of inadequacy and rejection that have dogged me since I was young.

But, of course, I didn't do that because I can't. As much as I want to coat him in Teflon and protect him from all harm, that's not how life works. I can't always protect him, just like I can't protect Abby and Isaac and couldn't protect Logan. He has to figure out how to deal with hurt and frustration and disappointment and --if I may be so bold as to say it-- unfair situations on his own. And I have to watch while he does that. And offer support however I can. And that sense of powerlessness, it hurts. 

It's hard being a parent sometimes. But I'm working through it. And I'm grateful that God has changed my heart enough that I didn't explode, because Younger Me probably would have. Younger Me would've had a fit right then and there. 

I guess this is kind of a big ramble, but here's the bottom line: Despite all of the bad feelings, I'm grateful that when he did finally get a shot, he nailed it. Oh, did he nail it. I'm thankful that he showed what he could do and that he didn't let his bench-time get him down. I'm grateful for his resilience and stick-to-it-iveness. He didn't complain, he didn't get mad. He just went out there and did his job and turned in his team's best, most notable performance of the game. 

And even though I had to watch him hurt for a while, I got to watch the victory, too. It may not have been a team win, but it was a personal win, and those are huge. So for that, I am grateful.