GOOD AT BAT

                The father watched his son from the stands. 

                In the at bat, his son fouled seven pitches away, watched two balls outside the strike zone pass, then struck out swinging on a fastball high and outside—a good pitch and one the boy, given the count, had to go for.  

                It was a good at bat.

                His son’s team lost the game.  The boy was disappointed, but the father was less troubled than the boy.

                The father had played his games, won and lost plenty of each, and saw the game, and its lessons, from a different life stage.

                The father let the boy have his disappointment.  Hurt can be good.  To feel pain in loss means one cares, and when we don’t dwell on the hurt, but let it live and pass as it should, hurt after given effort and disappointment is a healthy means to growth.  

                It was good the boy wanted to win.  It was good he perceived a little pain when he didn’t win; when even with his effort, the game didn’t play as he hoped. 

                There was more to be learned from the game, and as the two drove home, the father began in lesson for his son.  

                “That was a great at bat,” the father spoke in the closed space of the van.

                “I struck out,” his son answered despondent.

                “Yeah, you struck out, but it was still a good at bat.  Think of how much of a difference it was from just one game before.  The game before, did you ever get in the box and want to swing the bat?”

                “No,” his son, answered being honest with himself.

                “All you wanted was a walk to get on base, didn’t you?”

                “Yeah,” the boy spoke.

                “And what did the pitchers do?”

                “Threw them right down the middle.”

                “And what did you do?”

                “Watched.”

                “What did I say I wanted to see you do this game?”

                “Expect to hit.”

                “And you did that.  You got in there, and you took your swings—good swings!  He was a good pitcher and you fought him off.  You kept him throwing and, if your team cared to study, you gave them more than enough pitches to pattern him, his timing, delivery, and see what he had.  Even if it didn’t go the way you wanted, it was still a good at bat!

                Isn’t it more fun going down swinging that to watch perfect pitches go by and never try because you’re afraid you might miss?

                If you want a chance at something, you have to swing.  Even if you miss, at least you took a cut!  How many people that never claim to fail are really just sitting back watching everything good go by because they’re afraid they won’t hit it perfect?  Life isn’t much if all you’re looking for are walks.

                Swing!  Foul one off, you have another chance, again and again until you connect or get out; and even if get out—there are more games and more at bats.  That one’s over.  Get ready for the next one!”

                A silence settled as they came to stop at a light.  When the left-turn arrow changed green, the father continued, “Baseball teaches you something about life.  We’ll fail more than we succeed.  That’s just the way it works.  We’re supposed to get out.  Our hits are the exception, but after the games are played, nobody remembers the failures.  We remember the times we connected, the hits and fun we had having the chance to get in the box and take our swings. 

                You had a great at bat.  I know it didn’t go the way you wanted, but I’m still proud of you.  There will be more games.  Just keep swinging.”

                The little boy’s eyes brightened from his father’s words.  “Thanks Dad,” the boy spoke.

                “I love you,” his father answered as they pulled into the drive of their home.

                “I love you too Dad.”

                The game was over.  

                The boy struck out.  The game was lost, but he took his swings.  It was a good at bat, and the boy held his head high.