Baseball

We are done with the baseball season this year. We had our last day party and it had to be moved to a school cafeteria because the final game was a washout. We had major storms pass through on two consecutive days, leaving behind a soggy mess in the fields. The party was good, the pizza, cupcakes and soda were devoured by the young team, and trophies were handed out. The team gifted the coaches autographed bats and balls and pictures were taken. End of season!

Half our team knows a little of what baseball is all about. They know that fielding is about going after the ball and getting a batter out. They know that pitching is an important part of the game and that a 'home run' is a big deal. The other half of the team just knows that you hit the ball with the bat, run to first base, then second, then third and then you romp home.

We have a pitcher for at least the past two years who is an incredible young man from a nearby High School. He has a sibling who has special needs. He comes out there for every game and changes his pitching according to the need of the player. We have a player who has very poor vision, but loves to play. The pitch to him is with loud verbal cues and ones that go close to his bat, another player is a hard hitter, to him the pitch is more like a regular pitch. He calls out to the batter by name and pitches, so the batter feels special and takes an interest in hitting the ball. I truly appreciate the spirit of young people like this who have their head on straight even in their teens.

The coaches do a wonderful job too. They are usually dads who have taken the job of coaching the team and make every effort to get each player to practice catching, throwing and batting well. We have been on the same team for four years now, and have seen the kids grow year after year and watch how far along they have come. It is just amazing to see how some dedicated individuals go out of their way to make these special kids have a good baseball season year after year. Their spirit is truly appreciated!

Half A Year!

Six months! That is half of the year! It is a pretty long time, but sometimes, you feel like you batted an eyelid and that period just flitted by. The last six months are kind of like that. Yes, I felt them pass by, yet it feels like it was all too quick. In no time, it will be a year, and just like that, we will be counting years. Life goes on!

I just keep getting this overpowering feeling every once in a while now, that what happened was forever. There are no second chances. I remember some arguments that I had, and wish I had not had them. I wish I had been more compassionate, more understanding and more available. Then I tell myself to even think about all the good times, when I guess I was all those things.

Today, I read a little poem on somebody's profile, and it touched me in an odd sort of way. It went like this-
                                
                                How far you go in life

                     depends on your being tender with the young, 

                           compassionate with the aged, 

                            sympathetic with the striving, 

                      and tolerant of the weak and strong. 

    Because someday in your life you will have been all of these.

                           - George Washington Carver

I wonder if I did what I was supposed to do when the need was there. I know it is no use crying over spilt milk. I just feel that one cannot let the past go by without it teaching you anything. Thriving to be a better person is a quest for me. There was once a poem about a man in the mirror that had stirred up something like this in me. When I was in school, my dad would get hundreds of cards for Diwali, Christmas and New year. My hobby was to collect them, not all of them, but the nice ones. I had them in categories, the lovely lamp ones, the landscapes, the winter feel, and so on. This card was a very simple one and had this poem inside. It made such an impact on me that I cut it out and put it in my diary. That little thing stayed with me all these years. That poem is here, posted on the internet in a lot of places giving credit to an anonymous poet, but a few places list the poet as Dale Wimbrow who wrote it in 1934.

The man in the glass

When you get what you want in your struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day,
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself
And see what that man has to say.

For it isn’t your father or mother or wife
Whose judgment upon you must pass.
The fellow whose verdict counts most in you life
Is the one staring back from the glass.

You may be like Jack Horner and chisel a plum
And think you’re a wonderful guy.
But the man in the glass says you’re only a bum
If you can’t look him straight in the eye.

He’s the fellow to please-never mind all the rest,
For he’s with you clear to the end.
And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the man in the glass is your friend.

You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass.
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you’ve cheated the man in the glass.

This post has gotten very serious, but am in that kind of a mood today. I am not someone who has sayings and thoughts written all over my desk and diaries, but a tiny handful of them mean a lot to me. Finally, none of this means anything if your conscience says things are fine.

This is to the future, where I hopefully will make good choices, and will be able to face the man in the glass.