Like all of life's experiences, there was a balance of great and wonderful alongside some disappointment that year. Emma discovered a love of catching and met a whole new batch of friends through the softball program. Carys learned every word of every softball chant ever devised, she mastered the fine art of stealing home, and as a teeny tiny little 7-year-old had a strike zone small enough to practically guarantee a walk whenever she wanted one.
On the negative side, we discovered that youth softball in a couple of neighboring towns can be pretty competitive. First let me say that Fairmont's program is very healthy; they have amazing youth coaches who are in it for all the right reasons, and they are committed to skill development. We belong to a league that promotes the healthy kind of competition for young girls; I can always count on our league games to be friendly and fun.
Tournaments, however, can bring to light an entirely different dynamic. Some youth programs are in it to win it, and that is no joke. My girls got to travel with several different teams, which gave us a huge variety of experiences. We went to tournaments that required birth certificates to prove the ages of players. We played an elite team at a tournament who played rules we had never even heard of before (the Look-Back rule? Really?) and despite a 15 run lead were still stealing bases and congratulating themselves as if the national title was on the line.
It was at one such tournament when little Carys, all 45 pounds of her, went up to the plate to bat against a 12-year-old pitcher brought (illegally) down to help her 10U team win the tournament. Our coach had already complained that the girl was throwing 40 mph and was clearly not a 10U player; the opposing coach arrogantly said, "Prove it. There's no birth certificate required here, so prove it."
This mama was already getting a little hot under the collar watching this play out. Emma was a solid hitter for our team, and she was watching strikes fly by her. I expected Carys to get small in the box like she does and either get a quick walk or, more likely, a strike out. It never occurred to me that she could hit the ball. Nevertheless, she gave it a shot. She swung her little heart out and whiffed the first two in short order. Pitch #3 was low and inside. It was so far inside and coming so fast that my little one didn't have time to react. The pitch caught her squarely on the outside of her knee cap and dropped her like a sack of potatoes.
Now, as a coach, I have witnessed some real Mama-Bear mentality over the years. I have often marveled at Mamas who can go from zero to sixty in no time flat and appear to have no filter or ability to control themselves at sporting events. I never, ever, thought that would be me. Until it was. Holy cow, something comes over you when you see a baby cub hurting. I won't go into those embarrassing details here. I'll just tell you what happened.
Emma came flying out of the dugout followed closely by the coaches. Emma picked her sister up off the ground, walked next to her as she limped to first base so she could touch it and get a pinch runner, and then carried her into the dugout. There were some heated exchanges between coaches, a few parents may have had a few things to say, and then eventually we all just went home. I was very touched by the sisterly love Emma displayed, and it only took Sis a few days to recover physically.
Mentally, however, recovery didn't come so easy. Although both girls continued to play ball, Carys was never the same. She loves to run the bases and she loves to play in the field...but she absolutely dreads the batter's box. Her coaches have tried everything to get her over her fear. Literally, everything. Every single pitch, no matter who is throwing it, absolutely terrifies her. She backs out of the box as the ball leaves the pitcher's hand every time. She gets on base occasionally, when a pitcher lacks enough control to throw strikes, but last year she struck out watching more often that not. It is so hard to see that. I know why she does it; I understand completely, and I can't fix it.
We had long discussions this year about whether we were going to sign her up for the team. We explained that hitting is a huge part of the game, and she really had to evaluate whether this is the program for her. She's terribly conflicted; there are so many things she loves about it. But no amount of stealing, sliding, chanting, high-fiving or sunflower-seed spitting could change the fact that she is scared to death of the batter's box.
Carys had pretty much decided to be done when she found out that a small group of her friends were joining the team for the first time this year. She had an immediate change of heart; her social nature was desperate to have more time with her friends. I did remind her that the program is not cheap; if she was going to do it, she had to commit to learning how to bat all over again. She promised to try; and we decided to say yes and see what happens.
On Tuesday night, she had her first practice that included hitting. She has three coaches this year; Tim and Jeff have been two of her coaches for the last two years. They know all about her special circumstances. Andy is new to our team as a coach, and it just so happened that he was the one taking the girls into the cage for batting practice. I didn't say a word to him, and neither did Carys. She was one of the last ones to try, and she paced around the cages for a good five minutes waiting her turn. I've come to recognize that as her most nervous habit, but I didn't walk over or say anything. I just watched and waited.
Finally, it was her turn. She went into the cage, lined up about a mile away from the plate, and waited for the pitch.
She swung! Hard! And missed! But who cares, because she swung!
My throat was thick, my eyes were full of tears. I had the presence of mind to turn on my video camera, because we were going to have to re-live that success all night. I listened to Andy talk her through some batting tips and work on her swing and her stance. He has no idea how much of that she has completely missed because of her inability to get past that day two years ago on a hot dusty field in St. James. She finally started connecting with the ball, and suddenly she was hitting! Actually hitting!
He can't possibly know what a huge moment that was for her, and for this Mama. I probably looked ridiculous, the only mother who is video-taping my 9 year old at batting practice, for Heaven's sake. I swear I am not one of the crazies. We won't be breaking down film tonight, I promise. But I had to have that moment on camera, I just had to have it.
When practice was over, she came flying over to me and flung herself into my arms with eyes shining bright as stars in the sky. She said, "Did you see me?" Oh yes, I did.
