Thursday, June 3, 2010

family dynamics.

Our family dynamics are most easily studied through the game of baseball.

Jonathan, the fellow I call my little brother, is now playing on a traveling league. The past 12 years of his life have revolved around the game-- from hitting practice with my dad, to fielding with Nathan and lifting specifically for the sake of bulking his hitting muscles.

More than anything else he pursues and studies, he knows the complete intricacies of baseball. He knows more about the timing of the pitches, more about the discipline of sliding correctly, more about the feel of blisters on his hands from too much practice. He gets it.

So, watching him play is kind of a celebration for the family. We celebrate with his successes, and get even more disappointed when he can't play or fails to get the ball over the shortstop.

Last night, the kid went up to bat, facing a left-handed pitcher. Thrown, the ball hit the dirt, hit the catcher's chest pad, and then in the boy's face. Being the cool and collected player that he is, Jonathan turns to the ump and says (I find out later) "Do you mind if I'm bleeding?" The ump's responds, "Not unless you do."

It was awesome, watching my parents react. My mom does her motherly freak-out, hands in the air, "Oh John, was it his eye? Is he ok? Is he bleeding?" I should note here that the family always sits on the third base line, meaning there was no way we can see if he is indeed bleeding. My dad stands up, almost frustrated, then begins to walk slowly over the fence.

Mom freaks out, dad gets frustrated, and here I am, on the edge of my seat, almost praying, but more so impressed again by the boy's ability to maintain the awesome baseball-player manner. He walks over to the dugout, drinks some water, spits, and then walks back. Blood on home plate, he goes to bat again. Awesome.

Mom continues to freaks out, dad proclaims the situation ok, and I watch another conquered road bump.