This is how it all went down: William was born, and while I marveled at his amazing highlighted hair at Piedmont Hospital, I thought my chances of being a successful mother were pretty pathetic. I lost a lot of sleep worrying about his soft spot. At two, he went screaming and kicking as a reluctant preschooler through the doors of Northside Methodist, looking splendid in chambray shorts, white tee shirt (with whimsical little trucks in cheerful colors) and red toe-cap Keds. On a beautiful August first day of kindergarten--once again looking sharp--William screamed and climbed me like a tree while parents of children strolling happily into Morris Brandon looked on in horror. William started playing t-ball and sailed through little league ranks to majors, and then suddenly he was in high school baseball. Along the way he collected two extraordinary baseball nicknames--Pops and Beetle--both of which are perfectly perfect.
I volunteered as much as I could in those easy elementary school days. William and I went to Tennessee home football games, and I held his little hand in the crushing sea of 100,000 Big Orange people. I tried to always be nice to his friends and school lunches were my forever nemesis, while all along I was trying to work out how to be a decent mother of a boy. On a jillion occasions through 18 years, I thought to myself how a better woman would handle this situation with wisdom and aplomb, but I'm not that better woman right now.
Along the way through all the somewhat mundane-yet-significant days, benefits rained down, right on top of my head, mostly in the form of folks who happened to be in the same place I found myself. It seems this little William creature was my ticket to ride into places where great people were found in abundant supply. As I look back on this lightning fast time of life, I happily embrace and cherish a particular phenomenon that has provided me the biggest blessings of all--the fellowship that is peculiar to parents who find themselves in the same place at the same time with children doing basically the same things. These were my best people.
I clearly recall making a good friend on a noisy yellow school bus full of first graders on the last day of school field trip to the zoo. I remember the fellowship with friends on Vacation Bible School snack patrol (which we had identified as the ultimate VBS cream puff gig). With tremendous fondness I remember days spent at baseball, learning all about the many fascinating intricacies in the lives of others in the stands, which was fine background music to what was going on with the boys and their game in front of us. I have happily discovered this baseball wonder is kind of universal and translates well in stands all over the place wherever two or more are gathered with boys on a field.
For in all the orbits through which I passed--preschool, church, elementary school, Buckhead Baseball, high school baseball, just to cover a few--dwelled for a little or a lot, a myriad of fine people who sat or stood in front of me, behind me or at my side. I look back and see a vast kaleidoscope of faces and places, and I can still recall bits of many assorted conversations across the years.
I clearly recall making a good friend on a noisy yellow school bus full of first graders on the last day of school field trip to the zoo. I remember the fellowship with friends on Vacation Bible School snack patrol (which we had identified as the ultimate VBS cream puff gig). With tremendous fondness I remember days spent at baseball, learning all about the many fascinating intricacies in the lives of others in the stands, which was fine background music to what was going on with the boys and their game in front of us. I have happily discovered this baseball wonder is kind of universal and translates well in stands all over the place wherever two or more are gathered with boys on a field.
It seems there were only about four or five stops between Piedmont Hospital and the Memorial Auditorium where William will graduate next week. After Morris Brandon kindergarten, he never went screaming and kicking into another school. We did our last just-us Tennessee game in the fall, and next year he will be there completely on his own. I scared the guys in the sports store when I cried as I bought his last pair of cleats this spring, and now the baseball part of his life likely wraps up this week. I will reluctantly say goodbye to the ubiquitous communion of baseball parents in the stands where I have learned so much for so long.
The soft spot on William's head did whatever it is that soft spots do--and I didn't mess it up. The blond highlighted hair has long since become decidedly brown. I never have to make another school lunch, and I think most of his friends liked me okay. It's funny because that better woman who could have handled most any situation better than I could never showed up. But a lot of really really amazing people did, and that right there is a wonderment.
Pops and me.
Beetle and me.
(Either one is fine).
