...kind of like that moment this past weekend, when, after the Argentina vs Mexico World Cup match finished up, some not-so-kid-friendly images cropped up on the big screen amidst the spacewalks and inflated obstacle courses, the steep slides and the jump shot games that the kids at the birthday party were going berserk over, and I could tell from the graininess of the video and the grit of the scenes that an episode of Cops was about to start. It was time for the teenaged-to-twentysomething'd staff to whip out the remote and see if the DirecTV could conjure up something more family-oriented than the occasional peace officer diapering a newborn or settling a domestic dispute out on the street...but the signal was weak and, eventually, the TV was allowed to fade to blackness. The world of what my husband considers to be one of the best travelogues out there (as, according to him, Cops tends to show its viewers the places all over this country that are best to avoid) was pushed away from sheer bounce-around kid fun in sock feet. Quite the save.
What I would have given anything to save this week, and for the past couple of months, were the moments when my son became a pretty good contact hitter, when his enthusiasm in games made up for the moments when balls would slam into his shin guards behind the plate and he wouldn't react, not even to chase the ball, when parents would come up to me and ask me when I'd get a t-shirt proclaiming to everybody that I was The Little Guy's Mom, when we'd all chat in the stands about how much the team was gelling as a unit - and, when I'd fret a little about how much the kiddo was interested in the dirt around home plate and how little he was into actually trying to catch and field the ball, a parent would tell me it was what it was and would marvel over how he made contact with the ball and tapped in the tying run that eventually helped get the team into position to win that game.
Quite the emotional save.
Been one helluva season.
No comments:
Post a Comment