Finn's big moment

I have two children.  They are both perfect of course in everyway.  Ages ten  and eight are beautiful years.  Not to slight Liam in the least (the eldest) I have to get in writing what I'm seeing with Finn in the last two weeks.  Finlay being his official first name.  A good Irish lad. 

The boys signed up for Little League again this year.  I never played baseball when I was a kid.  Mainly due to the contact a throw from my father once made to my forehead.  I was just never that good at sports involving a ball.  So when my kids wanted baseball a few years ago I was a little reluctant.  Even baseball guys in high-school and college were are kind of full of themselves...keep in mind this is spoken from a timid swimmers perspective so what does that matter?  Little league is a commitment.  Lots of games that take forever, lots of practices in the cold and wind and then later the burning sun.  It's a parenting test at times after working all day then immediately running to the ball diamond, skipping your workout, eating a hot-dog from a concession stand and getting home at 9:00pm.  Then homework and baths no less.  This year it all paid off.

I could go into a tremendous thrilling build-up of how Finn's championship game last week got to the point where he was the last batter at the plate in extra innings, behind by one run, with two outs on the board and two little leaguers on base but I would have to write all morning.  There were a few miracles on the field that tied the game in one inning from a five run deficit.  Kevin Costner could have been in the stands for all I know.  I found myself high-fiving parents in the stands I hadn't really talked to all season that inning.

So, there we were, one run down.  The championship game about to be lost, two outs. And Finn was up at bat.  I've never followed baseball.  Never throught about how tight the situation can get until it struck me as I watched my little boy walk out to the plate (I should qualify that  - he is my little boy - but stands nearly 12 inches taller than all the other little boys on the team). I noticed that everyone was yelling to Finn.  Coaches and parents alike with all sorts of heart felt advice.  I just wanted to whisper in his ear to block it all out, be calm, and hit that ball as hard as you can.  But I could tell by the look on his face that he could feel the pressure.  All season long he had been the best hitter, or one of the best, and he had become expected to hit.  I thought how devastating the rest of the afternoon could be after these pitches or how grand life could be with this triumphant children memory safely in mind forever. He always watches the first pitch, they call it a ball if you don't swing at the 8 year old level. Next he swung with all his might, a beautiful swing, but a strike. Next pitch he did it again, strike. "Oh God", I thought "please don't swing again"...so I got off the bleachers and yelled to him from the fence to watch another ball come in like all the other screaming voices.  Next, ball.  So there he stood with two strikes, two balls, two outs, and two men on base. 

There are pure moments of joy in life.  Finn Brooks killed the ball that came his way on his third swing. Sent it far into the left field...then he ran like an angel all the way around the bases for an in-field home run winning the game by two runs.  It was a beautiful thing.  I was so happy for him, and proud.  He stood grinning from ear-to-ear with trophy in-hand saying 'Thank you' to all the congratulations.  My good little boy.