So Max's All-Star team played their last game today. As parents it was tough for H and I to watch our son struggle on the mound in what was probably the roughest day of his young career. He took the loss hard at first, but bounced back like most of his teammates shortly after as the agony of defeat was softened by frozen yogurt, sprinkles and silly 11-year-old humor.
I want to send out a big Thank You to Coaches Carl, Jeff and Steve for all the time put in with the boys (and girl). It means a great deal to me personally that you were there for my son. I don't want to get all dramatic, but I believe these are days Max will remember for the rest of his life, and it is significant that you are part of that. These days are something he will value forever. I only played two years of baseball (younger than Max is now), but I remember them vividly. And I want to share that being able to go to the field and watch my oldest child learn how to experience success -- and failure -- is something that I know I will value forever. Thank you.
Before bed tonight, we recapped this post-season as I wanted Max to know how proud I was of what he and his team had done: Two complete games with no walks, solid relief pitching, improved hitting and plate discipline, stepping up and helping his team at second base when he was needed, a Section Championship banner, blossoming friendships. These things made him smile.
But even as that smile was forming, tears were welling in his eyes. I put an arm around him and asked why he was crying.
"I just wish we could play some more baseball."
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