Alan NeSmith
As the pollen falls the balls fly. And they drop in the alley gap, we pray. It’s the time of year when you want your child to steal, but not end up in a pickle.
The highs and lows of emotion can be found around every diamond. On the dust-covered faces of family and friends, sunglasses rest on red noses. Hiding the baggy eyes while helping them focus through the glare of the morning or evening sun.
As the thud of the third pop of the catcher’s mitt sends a batter back to the dugout, you await the ting of the aluminum bat standing on deck.
Two and two.
Three and two.
Fastballs.
Curveballs.
Knuckleballs.
Oh my.
A high and tight pitch. The batter jumps back. And a gravelly voice grumbles from outside the fence, “Wear it!”
Then two more slots down the batting order, a player is beaned between the shoulder blades; the crowd lets out a sigh and the field takes a knee. A mother stands up from her folding chair to pace around. Shaking it off while running to first, the batter regains his composure down the white foul line after the coach calls time from Big Blue.
Youth baseball season is in full swing, and so is everything else. It’s the time of year when there is a practice to attend every evening except Wednesday. We are blessed to live in a community that understands that children need to be in church.
With the sun hanging around in the sky more in the evenings this time of year, practices can run later. After we pull into the driveway at dusk, we know homework needs to be wrapped up and showers taken. After getting the kids to bed, the honey-do list waits for its daily check or two. And now you know why many dads need a headlight.
While pants soak out stains in the laundry room, sleep is scarce, and nerves can rattle if one’s not careful.
But precious memories are being made and blessings abound. We just have to make time to take a knee and reflect.
On Tuesday night, Matthew Osborne sent me this random post from Twitter, shown with this article.
Whaa-pap! It hit home.
Father Time does march so fast. These jumbled days of fetching, stretching and straight running to keep up work responsibilities, family commitments and children’s schedules do keep the midnight oil burning. However, in my twilight years, when the five-gallon bucket of balls is covered in dust, there will be memories to savor.
Here’s to the players, coaches, parents, grandparents, brothers and sisters with red dust on their faces and hotdogs in hand – folks who keep the sand lot alive. Here’s to America’s favorite pastime.
I’ll see you at the ballpark.
Alan NeSmith is the chairman of Community Newspapers Inc. Reach him at 706-778-4215 or
anesmith@TheNortheastGeorgian.com.