It's the height of summer...nighttime not falling until 9:30...warm weather, a gentle breeze, and there is nothing, and I mean nothing, more fun than having your eight year-old son say: Dad, do you want to go play catch and hit the ball? This brings back such fond memories of when I played organized baseball as a kid as well as random pick-up games in our neighborhood, where the bigger kids made the rules, and chose who was going to be on what team, when the smaller kids were always the last picked, and we "threw the bat" and two kids hands kept getting wrapped around the bat alternately and whoever ended up on top, their team got to bat first.
The thrill of being at home plate, waiting for the pitcher to throw it, a little scared if it was going to be a fast ball or whiz by your head or hit you, if you were going hit a base hit, a home run, a double, or strike out or get walked. The thrill of playing first base and getting someone out. The thrill of winning and the disappointment with defeat.
Most of all, my son just loves to throw, bat, and have fun. We are fortunate in that we have a large and level yard and can play catch and even moderate batting right in our own yard, and can also walk to the park with vast open space to play as well. While he is beyond competitive, when it's just him and me, well...it's just one of those magical moments one will treasure for a long time, as it only comes along once in life -- or in our case, about an hour every night!!! :-)
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