My nephew plays on a little league team (I think that's what they call it for 9-yr-olds). Anyway, tonight I went to his game. I've seen him play before but tonight was stellar. The kids were having fun. The 2nd baseman from the other team was a riot – he was so pumped to play. At one point as they were coming off the field he yells out, “I'll race you Nick” and took off at a dead run to the dugout. My sister and I were cracking up.
Anyway, my nephew kicked butt, especially on his last at-bat. He knocked a popper up the middle which I could have sworn would have been caught, but the kid missed it and it bounced and rolled toward center. My boy took of like a bat outta hell around 1st and 2nd, they overthrew him at 3rd and he brought it in to home. Awesome! And since tomorrow is his b-day, it was especially sweet.
I told him that the reason they won was because I was wearing my Indians hat again. That was the only reason they won, right? Sure it was...
But my favorite part of the night was watching the players faces – as they hit, as they scored, as they made a great play. It was so fun to see how excited and happy they were. I think adults forget about that fabulous feeling of freedom and fun.
Why is that we lose that as we get older? Why can't we remember the fun in life? I think about the Friends episode where Phoebe runs. She just takes off like she's being chased, arms flailing about. She tells Rachel about how it felt to run as a kid, how fun it was to run away from Satan (the neighbor's dog). I miss that feeling.
I had a dream the other night that brought it back. I was running with my running buddy from work and for once HE was the one who was breathing heavy and not keeping up. I, on the other hand, had this great stride – long and lean and fierce and free – and I was just running like the wind, no problems breathing, just taking it all in. (Now if I could just get that stride down I'll be set for October – maybe I just need to remember Satan chasing me.)
No comments:
Post a Comment