Vermont

Came to Vermont with Jack and Kate this week. Kind of squeezed it in between my deadlines, and camp, and just when we could get away.

It's nice to get away. It's sort of a trip to the past. I drove the kids by their great-grandparents' house in Springfield, pointed out the tree I used to climb. Drove them by my grade school, and the pile of bricks that used to be the McDonalds I went to (and very briefly worked at...) in high school.

At my parents house, they appropriately fawned over the kids. Gave them little grandparent-y presents. Nana and Kate read books together, Jack and I tossed a baseball around with Baba. That was pretty cool, especially with Baba being impressed by how comfortable and relaxed Jack was throwing it around. He noted Jack's arm strength, his lack of fear of the ball, his ability. It was fun. Jack pitched to me, then Baba pitched to Jack. Three generations of Richardsons playing ball. I think we're both suckers for that stuff (Jack's oblivious).

Went to dinner at Black Rock steakhouse. I love the place. Even the salad bar was awesome. Kate had a hot dog. Jack, to his credit, ordered the N.Y. Strip of the kids' menu, and ate most of it. Fair play to you, Jack. I drank red wine and enjoyed the meal.

We searched, fruitlessly, for deer on the way home. I know plenty of deer live in Vermont, but we've never found one on our hunts. Emily doesn't believe they exist, I don't think.

The next day began at the golf club. Baba and I took Jack up to get his swing started. He was remarkably game, even wearing a garish combo of plaid shorts, a striped shirt, and red sneakers. He didn't really stand out up there, however. We hit at the driving range for a while, then putted a little while more. For a first time, he did OK. Next summer, we'll play a little more.

In the afternoon, we went to Stoughton Pond. It was a hot day and I think I mostly wanted to give them a chance to cool off and also burn off some energy, but it was a lot more fun than even I expected. Part of it was the nostalgia, I used to go there a lot as a kid. Partly it was just really relaxing, with cool water, empty grassy area to sit on, sandy beach, warm sun. I played with both of them in the water, plus they goofed around in the sand. Kate swam around, back and forth, forth and back. Jack ran and splashed and hit me with a wiffle ball. We did that for two hours.

On the way home, because it was a hot day and they were good, we stopped at Country Kremee to get soft-serve ice cream. We all got chocolate and vanilla swirl with rainbow sprinkles, sat at a picnic table in the shade, and wolfed it down. Just like I used to do 5, 10, 20, maybe 30 years ago.

I think that's what Vermont is to me. Stuff I used to do, stuff I used to enjoy, stuff I still kind of enjoy. And now they do, too.

Wait 'til next year

Baseball season came to an end today. A hard-fought 3-2 playoff defeat. Jack led off the last inning with a thrilling, hard-hit single up the middle. A great birthday present! And then was slow leaving first on a ball the catcher batted around, and got thrown out on the basepaths. Left the field in tears, I had to talk him off the ledge. Other team scored to win it in the bottom of the inning.

It's funny. Emotional high and low in the space of 2 minutes. That's baseball. I love this game.

Afterward, Jack was down for a bit. Thought he cost the team the game, thought he ruined my birthday. I said, you know what, Jack, that was a great hit. You made a mistake, but you learn from it, and you get better next year. And afterward, he was OK, and running around with his friends.

It was a great season. A lot of fun. My son became a baseball player. I remembered how great baseball is.

Wait 'til next year.

Jack pitched today

Jack pitched today. He had talked about wanting to pitch basically for months, and his first audition a month or so back had been shaky, but we practiced some, and he auditioned for the coach again last week. And he aced it; threw a bunch of strikes, coach smiled at me and said, "We'll, I've seen enough," and indicated Jack would probably get an inning in today, our regular season finale. So naturally I thought about it all week and woke up for good at about 4:30 a.m. But game time finally rolled around, and after some uncertainty and anxiety (would he get a chance? Would he throw strikes if he did?) the fifth inning came up, and coach said to Jack, "You're on the mound."

Not sure Jack knew entirely what to do; which ball to take (game ball, on the mound), how to warm up. But he gradually figured it out, threw his warmups to the catcher, and the inning began. He threw some balls and some strikes, getting squeezed - I tell you! - on a 2-2 pitch and walking a batter, but ultimately getting the side down on a groundout, a popup, and a caught stealing. It was awesome. Pitching shouldn't be such a big deal, I guess, but it is, because everywhere else, you don't handle the ball as much. He caught all the throws back from the catcher, threw some strikes, walked two batters, gave up a hit and a dribbler, but finished the inning. Came off the mound happy, relieved, smiling, got a nice fist bump from coaches, teammates, and headed into the dugout. We were pretty happy for him, because he wanted to do it, worked at it, and did it. That's how life should work, right?

He was proud. Asked about strike to ball ratio. Heard from a couple of teammates about their first pitching outings. ("I walked 15 guys!" one said.) Got a game ball, which he juggled endlessly during the coach's postgame speech. Seemed relieved. And he wasn't alone.

Proud of him.