***This was a wicked old entry, from March, that got lost in the draft section***
Before vacation, I was driving home from work and I saw a baseball team running around a park when I was stopped at a stop light. I immediately flashed back to all those years of playing baseball and softball. Miserable years of being forced to play because my brothers did, and my parents thought it would be “good for me”. *sigh* My parents (well, my bio-mom and step-dad) never really knew me. Anyway, I’m at the stoplight, and my mind goes to the dark side. I see the boys and all I can think is “I don’t want my kid doing that”. Light turns green and I start driving past the boys. I pass the big pack of them and see (for lack of any other way to put it) the “fat kid” running behind, flushed, and my heart just leaps out of my chest toward him. As I start to have a moment, I realize that there are two boys wearing uniforms, running behind the kid. They are cheering him on, running with him, and making sure he finishes the lap. My eyes actually welled with tears. I felt so amazingly proud of those boys. Whether they were the coach’s kids, or just awesome boys, didn’t really matter in that moment. Those boys renewed my faith in children in that moment.
