At the age of three, we decided our oldest son was ready for some type of group activity. Coming out of a pandemic, we thought this would be a great way to get him out of his bubble. My husband and I thought a team sport would be a great way to teach him communication skills, teamwork, etc. Little did I know it would be a learning experience and a period of growth for all of us.
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I went into my first t-ball season unprepared for all the lessons it would teach me about my son and life. Little kids need each other, and moms need each other.
Grace Is the Name of the Game
I would say I am pretty well versed in sports. Eight years married to a high school football and baseball coach and a semi-decent softball player . . . I’ve had my run around athletics. Nothing, and I mean nothing, teaches you the true meaning of patience like a screaming four-year-old on a t-ball field. Over four seasons and two years with the title of team mom, I have learned that the littlest of humans need grace too.
Amid dugout tantrums, I found myself getting angry and giving him consequences without even understanding the root of this meltdown. No bribe was beneath me. But if I am being honest, I am not on 100% of the time. Why would I expect my son to be? Grace truly is the name of the game when it comes to our littles.
Winning Isn’t Everything
I know, coming from the wife of a coach you might think I am crazy. Hear me out, I have seen these kids go winless. We cheer them on anyway, and we build their confidence anyway. We aren’t here to win at all costs because we want them to learn how to listen and follow the rules. At four and five years old, a win is having them show respect to teammates, coaches, and the other team. We have put them in other sports and have been told that our bunch of boys is always respectful. This is a greater win for us than winning a game 23-10.
Your Teammates Are Ride or Die
It’s a beautiful thing to see the love our bunch of boys have for each other. They have taught me what it looks like to be a good friend. When a teammate takes a tumble and the tears start flowing, they rally around each other. Hugs are given, tears are wiped away, and then a game of tag in the dugout ensues. Like magic, everyone is happy again. I have learned the importance of ensuring my son has meaningful friendships with kids his age. We all need friends who will be there for us when we fall and get a boo-boo in life.
There Is Crying in Baseball
There is plenty of crying, and that’s ok. Sometimes there are big feelings in baseball like there are in life. It’s inspiring to watch these kids pop back up from a booboo with a hug and kiss and get back to it. When my son gets a “bad hit,” cries, and then says he’ll try harder next time–that’s advice I can use as an adult. It’s okay to cry, dust yourself off, and get back out there. This is one of the single greatest lessons these kids have learned and quite frankly I have learned while being a t-ball mom.
Over the last two years and five t-ball seasons, I have seen a group of three-year-olds grow physically and mentally. And with them, I have grown as a mom and as a person. They have taught me what it is to be a good friend, to give grace, to dust off my boo-boos and get back on the field, and above all else that crying is okay. I am at the beginning of the journey as a sports mom, but it has already taught me so much about my son and myself.
It’s only been two years, and we are still in our t-ball era. I can’t wait to see what else this game has in store for us!
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