It's baseball season. In the Junior Farm League, we play at least twice a week, usually in back of the school, but sometimes behind the rod and gun club. I know they're safe, but those gun club games just seem wrong. You've got guys shooting guns on the other side of a hedge behind the outfield. Other guys ride ATV's on a road that goes off into the woods. Some of us parents are collectively freaking, but the boys don't seem to notice.
Corralling first grade boys on to the field is a lot like herding cats. They can't figure out their positions and often end up a few on one side, none on the other. Some kid hit a beautiful pop fly last night and five kids ran into each other trying to make the catch at third base. Right after that, the first baseman, who likes catching balls, tried to run to third because there were more hits there. Makes sense to me.
My sweet boy is the team goofball. He smiles and laughs through almost the entire game. When he gets tired, he sits. When he squats in "baseball position," he often falls down. And yesterday he had three hits.
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