My Little Adventure with Pendleton Jr. Baseball
So, the other day, I found myself getting roped into the whole Pendleton Jr. Baseball scene. Wasn’t really planning on it, you know? My grandson, young Timmy, decided he wanted to be the next big slugger. Kids, right? Anyway, his mom, my daughter, was swamped, so grandpa gets the call. “Can you just take him to a few practices, Dad?” Famous last words.
First day, I show up, expecting chaos. And yeah, there was a bit of that. Little tykes running every which way, some swinging bats like they were trying to swat flies, others just staring at the clouds. But then I saw the coaches. Man, those folks have patience. I mean, saints, some of ’em. Trying to explain the infield fly rule to a seven-year-old? Good luck with that. But they were out there, doing their best, positive as all get out.
I started just sitting on the bleachers, minding my own business. But then, one of the coaches, a fella named Dave, real nice guy, his own kid was on the team, he comes over. “Hey,” he says, “you look like you know your way around a ballfield.” I chuckled, told him it’s been a few years. Before I know it, I’m helping shag fly balls during practice. My old arm isn’t what it used to be, let me tell you.
The whole experience, it kind of grew on me. Here’s what I noticed, just my two cents:
- The kids were actually having fun. Yeah, they wanted to win, but mostly they were just happy to be out there, running around with their buddies. That’s how it should be, right?
- The parents were… well, parents. Some were super supportive, cheering for every kid. Others were a bit too intense, living through their little ones, you know the type. But mostly, it was a good crowd.
- It’s all volunteer-run, mostly. These folks are giving up their evenings, their weekends. For what? For the kids. That’s something you gotta respect. They’re not getting paid, just doing it for the love of the game and the community.
So, I started going to the games. Found myself getting into it, yelling “Good eye!” and “Nice stop!” like I was some kind of seasoned scout. Timmy, he actually got a hit one game. Just a little blooper over the shortstop’s head, but you’d think he’d hit a grand slam in the World Series, the way he beamed. That right there, that’s what it’s all about. Seeing that pure joy on a kid’s face.
It wasn’t all sunshine and home runs, of course. There were dropped balls, strikeouts, a few tears here and there. One time, they lost a game because of a bad call, or at least that’s what some parents thought. Got a little heated on the sidelines. But Coach Dave, he handled it. Calmed everyone down. Taught the kids about sportsmanship, win or lose. That’s a big lesson, more important than any trophy, if you ask me.
So, yeah, my little stint helping out with Pendleton Jr. Baseball. Started as a favor, ended up being something I actually looked forward to. It’s funny how these things happen. You think you’re just killing time, and then you find yourself invested. It’s good to see that kind of community spirit still around. Kids learning, parents involved, people giving their time. It’s more than just baseball, really. It’s about building something, making memories. And my old throwing arm? Well, it’s a bit sore, but it was worth it.
