First Practice

He bats left-handed. His back is to me. I am far off to the side with the other parents. I am aware not of them but of the Boy only. His stance is perfect. Legs even and evenly spaced. Shoulders squared. Elbows up and bat held just so. The afternoon sun plays off the shine of his navy blue helmet as it might play off of the sea. When the coach pitches, the Boy swings through the ball. Misses. It is a lovely miss, the product of concentration and execution. Undeterred, he brings the bat back where it belongs above his shoulders, steadies his feet, and awaits the next pitch. His swing is strong and pure. Misses the ball twice more. He knows it has been a good effort. He glances over his right shoulder and finds my eyes. He smiles. I smile too and nod. I couldn’t be more proud if he’d hit the ball such that it travels still.

I sense he will be a fine ballplayer.