Mr. Baseball

A more responsible person, following such a dismal performance while throwing at this weekends dunk tank, may have said, perhaps I am not the guy to pitch baseballs to young children.  A more clever person would have stepped aside when faced with the opportunity to provide a safe environment to learn how to hit a baseball.  But nope…not this guy.

The blood coursed from my sons nose, the tears ran down his cheeks.  The entire team surrounded, jaws wide open in amazement.  On my face they read my thoughts as though a book; I have single handily ruined my sons love of the sport of baseball.   The nose of a seven year old is a pretty small target.  Odds of hitting that perfectly are not very good.  Unless you don’t want to of course. 

Either my son has a great deal of courage, an over inflated confidence in his father, or a poor memory, because he got right back up there to bat.  I was extremely proud of him and took that as a life lesson.  At his age, he probably didn’t realize how important it was to jump back to it following an experience like that.  Despite that, he took his bruises and moved on.  I think that misguided baseball probably hurt his dad more than him today.  That being said being hurt and proud at the same time is a bizarre emotion indeed.