Out of my League

Jonah is in a baseball league. He has taken a few sports classes before, but they have been more about "teaching"the kids "skills" rather than actually playing any games or trying to win things. And by "teaching" I mean "yelling at" and by "skills" I mean "to get them to pay attention long enough to realize they are in a class." Jonah seems to have fun, so we keep signing him up for things. And it is a win for us too, because Jonah is like a fusion reactor of energy and it is nice to let him run around and burn some of that off. Seriously. I want to buy the kid a treadmill.

But this league is different. First of all, it is a league. Which means that there is a serious time commitment. Practice and or games twice a week, plus field clean up, bingo night, jamboree, etc. And it costs money. Sign up fees, equipment, t-shirt fees, fund-raising raffle tickets (which Amy and I sold all of to ourselves. We might win a 42" HDTV!) What did I pay a sign up fee for if we have to fund raise? I know this is only the tip of the youth sports iceberg if Jonah continues down this path. And I want him to be in youth sports if he wants. I know it teaches good skills and responsibility and team work and all that crap.

The second thing that makes this time different is that suddenly I am the dad of a kid in a baseball league. Which means I am supposed to play catch with him to warm up, which I am happy to do, but I am not very good at getting the ball to Jonah's mitt. Usually it is more like his shoulder. And I am asked to help teach batting skills (um, hit the ball?) and be the first base coach (seriously - why did we pay all this money and fund raise for if you need me to help coach?) Which again, I am happy to be involved, but I have no idea what I am doing! I usually avoid eye contact when they ask for helpers, or pretend I am busily sending emails from my iPhone (really it is an iPod and I am playing Plants vs. Zombies.) I know no more about teaching a kid about proper batting technique that those other Dads do about teaching their sons how to properly apply "old age" makeup for a medium sized theatre. (Which I would totally rock at - I even had my own Ben Nye makeup kit.) I am the only dad who showed up at the first practice without my own mitt. Strangely, or perhaps not, I did have my man-purse to carry my Kindle, my iPod and my snacks.

So in a weird way going to baseball practice is taking me back to being the kid that didn't fit in in gym class. I don't know how I missed the athlete gene. 80% of my family is pretty athletic (Richard - you are the other 10%. Sorry. I know you played volleyball, but your true sport is pie making.) I think the athlete gene is linked to the competitive gene. I want Jonah to do well because I want him to have fun and because I know it really matters to him. But I am not this dad:

Seriously?! These kids are 6! OK - maybe his kids are older, but still. Where do you even buy a shirt like that? Why do you even buy a shirt like that? Maybe the t-ball league that I was in when I was 8 didn't win enough and maybe THAT is why I never liked sports. Because I lacked confidence! Thanks, random t-ball dad!

So if you want to know where to find me on Saturday (or Tuesday and sometimes Wednesday.) I'll be at the baseball field. If Jonah is at bat, you'll see me cheering and encouraging from the sidelines. If he's not, I will probably be downloading a sample of Baseball For Dummies on my Kindle. I am still trying to figure out the why there is an outfield position called "Buck-short." I swear the other dads made that up to see if I would believe them.