Season 2

In our sun-down perambulations, of late, through the outer parts of Brooklyn, we have observed several parties of youngsters playing "base," a certain game of ball... Let us go forth awhile, and get better air in our lungs. Let us leave our close rooms... the game of ball is glorious. - Walt Whitman

Jack's second season of baseball began with me missing the registration deadlines for most leagues. Worried that he would miss out on a whole season due to my negligence, I scrambled, searched and prayed for something to work out. Then we discovered the Pony League, which not only started later, but seemed to strike a good balance between competition and fun.

Being one of the bigger kids and better hitters, his coach gave him the nickname "Slammin' Jack." He hit three home runs in the season and was selected to be on the all-star team.

Proof that God is in the details: the uniform color was a vast improvement for his coloring from last year's royal blue.

Dad, always the best coach.

Cole continued to ask: When am I going to play? Cora just took it in.

I don't know much about baseball - Jack's understanding of it has already surpassed my own. But with each handful of peanuts, my appreciation for the game grew: the rhythm, moved forward as if by each swing of the bat; the athletic bursts alternating with casual breaks in the action; the anticipation of the next play; the sound of the ball making contact with the bat or glove. Perhaps what I like most is the outdoors-ness of it - the slide on dirt, the grounder chased across grass, the baseball caps shielding eyes from the glaring sun.

As hot as the games were, and as far as we had to drive to practice, I hope there's more of this in store for us. It's starting to get fun.