Oliver at the Bat
Oliver wanted to play baseball, so we signed him up. Baseball was a passion of mine when I was younger, and I was excited he expressed an interest in playing. However, due to a busy family and work schedule and the lockdowns of covid, he is starting his baseball experience over again at 13. We spend lots of time in the yard throwing and fielding. Batting practice, on the other hand, has been hard to make happen.
Oliver’s first game was Saturday, April 15th. He was thrilled to be out there on the field with the team finally. He played well in the field— but his day at the plate was less successful. He had three at-bats and was called out looking each time. My years of experience playing baseball and watching my son told me he was scared of the ball. He dropped his bat and backed out of the batter’s box on most pitches. He did not swing the bat one time in all three at-bats. Despite Oliver’s tough day at the plate, the team played well and pulled out the victory. After the game, Oliver was in good spirits as we returned to the car.
As his father, this was a moment I needed to handle delicately. I felt some responsibility for his bad day at the plate. I felt like I could have done more to get him prepared. While we were walking, I was planning how to get him comfortable in the box. Behind me, Oliver was talking to his mother about the game. I heard him say, “The umpire was terrible.” I stopped.
Dad: What did you say? Are you blaming the umpire?
Oliver: His strike zone was bad.
Dad: Bud, we don’t do that. We don’t blame others. Did you relize you were bailing out of the box? I spent a lot of time as a kid umpiring. It is not easy to call a strike zone when the batter leaves the box before the ball hits the catchers mit. You know how the cathcer frames the pitch for the umpire?
Oliver: Yes.
Dad: The batter has to do the same thing. I wasn’t planning to discuss this with you until later but do you think you are just scared of the ball?
Oliver: No.
Dad: Remember how we talk about our words matching our actions? If you aren’t scared why did you bail?
Oliver: The pitches were bad.
Dad: I say this with love, but if you believe that you’re lying to yourself. I know you’ll figure it out eventually but until then, don’t blame others for your failures.
Oliver’s face had morphed from one of joy to disappointment. I felt terrible. I wanted him to feel empowered by his new experience. Instead, I forced him to reflect on the negative of the day instead of the positive. Maybe I should have waited, but sometimes I struggle to hold my tongue when my children lie. Even if the lie is simply protecting their feelings. When we got home, Oliver and I talked, and he admitted he was scared. I told him that was ok— I was scared of the ball when I was a kid too, and the best way to get over the fear is with experience. We made a plan to go to the batting cage together so he could get comfortable.
Wednesday, I bought a bucket of balls from Dicks and picked Oliver up from school early. He was a little frightened. I picked him up early. He thought something bad had happened, but his face lit up when he realized we were going to the cage. We headed over to Long Park. There we spent two hours practicing. We worked on getting him comfortable in the box and swinging the bat. I threw about 200 balls, and he swung at about 150 of them. By the end, he was making regular contact. When it was time to leave, I asked him how he felt. He said, “Good.” I asked, “What will you do tomorrow at your game?” He smiled and said, “Swing the bat.”
Oliver’s first at-bat on Thursday didn’t go much differently than his Saturday ones. He dropped his bat, bailed out of the box, and was called out looking. After he got back to the dugout, I walked over and spoke with him. I reminded him that his focus was to hit the ball and to do that, he had to swing the bat. I told him the balls he is bailing out on are strikes, and there is nothing to fear. I said, “You can do this. Yesterday proved it. Just swing. Don’t be afraid.” He had one more at-bat, and after the first three pitches, the count was 1-2, and Oliver had still not swung the bat. He still looked timid and uncomfortable. After the second strike was called, I yelled, “Oliver, Swing the bat.” The field got quiet. I have one of those dad voices that’s hard to ignore. I could hear whispers around us saying, “Finally.” When the at-bat was over, he had struck out looking again.
When we got home from the game, Oliver and I talked again. I emphasized his ability from Wednesday.
Dad: Oliver, do you want to play baseball?
Oliver: Yes.
Dad: Then you need to be active at the plate. You need to show the other people on the field that you want to be there. Swing the bat son. Don’t be afraid to swing and miss. You stayed in the box during the second at-bat that was good. You showed your not afaid of the ball but revealed you are afaid of the failure. If you swing and miss it will feel like your failure. If it’s a called strike then it can be the umps failure. Does that sound right?
Oliver: Maybe.
Dad: I tell you this a lot so maybe it sounds like white noise but I love you. I want whats best for you. I have watched you since you were a wee little tot and I know you son. And I know you need to swing the bat. You can listen to a lot of differnt people in the world. Your frineds, teachers, coaches. But the person you need to listen to most is your dad. I promise I wouldn’t lead you in the wrong direction. Saturday I want to see you listen. Swing the bat. Got it?
Oliver: Yes.
Saturday was a big day. For those who don’t know, Oliver is my stepson. Saturday, Oliver’s biological father was coming to visit. Visitation used to be every other week but had morphed to once a month, and now it’s only a couple of times a year. This has been hard on Oliver, but he has handled it very well. He is such a sweet, thoughtful kid. I struggle to forgive his father for abandoning such a wonderful kid. If I am being honest, I did not want him there. His presence is just another distraction. When he comes around, I tend to sink into the background and fail to live up to my responsibilities as Oliver’s father. I put my feelings to the side and engaged his dad. His dad is a nice and likable guy. We discussed baseball and Oliver's progress so far this year.
As his at-bat approached, I walked to the dugout and said, “Swing the bat.” He looked me in the eye and said with a smile, “Got it.” I said, “I am serious. Swing at every pitch. You need to prove to yourself that you can do it. Your focus is not hitting the ball, it’s swinging the bat. Once you do step one, then you can think about step two.” His at-bat came, and he struck out looking again. I was frustrated. I could hear all the advice he was getting from different people, coaches, friends, and other family members. None of them know Oliver as I do. None of them have watched his other experiences in life like I have.
As his next at-bat approached, I walked back to the dugout and spoke with Oliver. I said, “I can hear all the advice you are getting, and it’s good advice, but it doesn’t apply to where you are. I want you to tune out everything else and listen to me. Make it simple. Swing the bat.” He gave me a serious look acknowledging he heard me and walked out of the dugout toward the plate. I said, “You got this.”
After a few pitches, Oliver was once again behind in the count, and, once again, he had yet to swing the bat. I stood up and, using my Dad voice, said, “Oliver, step out of the batter’s box.” The field was again quiet. He looked over at me. I could see the nerves coursing through his body in his eyes. “Oliver, Swing the bat. I want you to swing the bat at the next pitch thrown.” He looked back, half in frustration, half in understanding, and nodded his head. The pitch came, and he SWANG THE BAT! Ding! The sound of aluminum hitting a ball never sounded so wonderful. Jumping up and down, I was yelling, “That’s it! Swing the bat, hit the ball!” I was so focused on him swinging the bat I’m not even sure where the ball went. But he ran hard and was safe at first. He then stole second and third; before you knew it, he scored his first run of the season.
Walking back to my seat, I had a big smile on my face. My wife was looking at me like I was a crazy person. “Calm down, babe. Got a little excited, didn’t you?” Laughing, I said, “All he had to do was tune out the distractions, focus on the objective, and be active. I am so happy for him. I can see him smiling from here.”
His team played well, and they pulled out another victory. After the game, Oliver was given a game ball. He was thrilled to have his dad there for this experience. Walking back to the car, I said, “What’s the lesson?” Smiling ear to ear, he said, “Swing the bat.” Laughing, I said, “It’s listen to Dad.” Smiling and rolling his eyes, he said, “Yeah I knew that.” It was disappointing that he was leaving, and I didn’t get to celebrate with him. But I put my feelings aside and took a picture with him to commemorate the achievement.
When leaving the parking lot, I saw the pitcher for Oliver’s team holding hands with a girl. I turned to my wife and said, “I don’t know if I am ready for that.”
Later in the night, I was sitting and thinking about the day, looking at the picture of Oliver and I. It made me happy to see such joy in his expression and that I had something to do with it. But I couldn’t help but notice how my wee little tot was beginning to look like a little man. So I wrote a poem for him.
Gentle smile
Soft Eyes illuminating joy
My sweet young boy
To the next stage
Oh what an age
In a short span
You’ll be a young man
That hair!
That stare!
Look for the one
Not for fun
Look for a collaborator
And a debater
Who forgives
With a love that outlives
I want my son to know I am the man he should give his attention to. But I also want him to know I am nothing without his mother. I want him to understand that sometimes life can be scary and difficult. I want him to look to those who love him most for guidance. No reason to bail when you have people willing to help you through the fear. And I want him to understand that relationships are not built on the infatuation of our desires but the patience and understanding of hard work, communication, love, and forgiveness.
The lesson for all the boys out there is: listen to Dad. He loves you and your mother.