Big Kids

Jack and I set up his tee-ball set out in the backyard. We'd bought it in Denver, at a point when I think he was too small to really use it. Anyway, he took to it immediately, perhaps in part because he's gone to see his cousins Lyndsay and Stacey play tee-ball at the park on several previous Saturdays. That's a riot in and of itself, as the kids stand there in baseball stance while the ball rolls by them about a foot away, or alternately, the entire team swarms to the ball like bees.


Anyway, I'd place the ball on the tee and he'd really sock the thing, with a big, full-around swing. Pretty impressive. At one point, a couple of older boys -- 8 and 7, I believe, or so -- came over from the house next door, where our backyards connect. "Can we hit some, too?" "Sure," I said.

Well, it was pretty great. They'd haul off and sock it, but once they'd had their turn, they set it up for Jack, and gave him coaching tips ("Don't stand too close," "Hit the ball, not the red part," etc.). This went on for about 15-20 minutes, with them running around, and Jack either hitting, running to get the ball, or just watching the bigger boys in awe.

The best was the next morning, when Jack and I went out there again. Jack: "Are the big kids coming out?" "I don't know, Jack, I don't see them. They must be in their house."

Jack ran across the backyard, to the edge of theirs. Stopped, and shouted:

"Big kids! Big kids! I'm in my YAAA-RRRRD!!!!!!!!"