But it’s not about me, is it?
It’s about my 6-year-old son who practically floats with excitement just being on the same field as all of his friends. The faces are even mostly the same, they are my hockey kids, only with mitts on their hands and caps on their heads. Their smiles just as I remember them from underneath their helmets. It’s becoming (painfully) clear to me that the sport itself is secondary to my little athlete and is more about playing with his friends.
So here I am, a hockey dad, and my son is playing baseball. Can I be a baseball dad too?
I don’t know the answer to that question yet, but you bet I’m going to try. It’s time that I put my own baseball cap on and get serious about this sport that is in my blood. You see, my grandfather used to scout for the Philadelphia Phillies and wrote a local sports column (I got the writing bug from him at least) called, Strictly Local. So, no more sitting idly by on the sidelines, it’s time for this hockey dad to shower his knowledge upon his son from the sidelines and maybe even teach these baseball coaches a thing or two in the process.
“Keep those knees bent, son. Head up and always be ready.”
Okay, that wasn’t so bad. I think it was even correct. Sure those same things apply in hockey, but nobody needs to know that.
“Great job! Way to swing that stick, er, bat.”
I need to focus a little harder here.
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