|Jay and me|
When I was a kid, I loved playing with my older cousin Jay. By "playing," I mean I would follow him around and bug him until he finally gave in and grudgingly played with me. I was younger, and a girl, so I know I wasn't exactly cool enough to qualify most of the time.
But one summer when we visited his house, Jay let me play baseball one afternoon with him and his friends. I couldn't believe it...there was hardly any begging or pleading from me. But there I was, in the outfield, actually playing baseball with them. I stood proudly in the tall, weedy, un-mowed, remote part of the yard, far away from the guys, without a ball glove because I didn't know how to use one anyway.
Eventually, someone hit the ball and it flew way high, coming right for me. This was my chance! It came nearer and nearer, practically in slow motion as my moment of glory approached. And I caught it!
I held it up triumphantly, ready to hear all the praises and cheers from Jay and his friends.
Instead, they yelled at me, because of course I messed up because I didn't throw the ball for a second out.
I thought of that day as I watched the World Series last night. I know a bit more about baseball now than I did that day long ago in the weeds. And I even own a ball glove. When I tried to explain to my son last night why I was jumping up and down in front of the TV, I realized it's time to teach him about baseball. And maybe we need to pay Jay a visit.