Monday, September 16, 2013
Among the missed opportunities
Amazingly, after posting the music video I made from footage of my son training for his first high school baseball season, I did nothing to journal that season. All I have to say is, "it was wonderful." Arbolito captained the freshman baseball team in a campaign that saw them regularly play against mixed-class teams (albeit non-varsity) and finish with a .500 record. He was a fire-starter hitting at the top of the order, was flawless in centerfield, made five strong, almost dominant appearances on the mound. This is Arbolito at 14 throwing back to back three-up/three-down innings at Bellevue High School.
When I enrolled Arbolito in select youth baseball after his super 11U PONY season, I only sought to get him prepared to be a good high school baseball player. I thought that as with many things, as the competition matures, the game passes many players by and attrition sets in. I wondered when that would occur for Arbolito. Thankfully the answer is a resounding "not yet." If anything, his game, physicality, and athleticism continue to improve. As such, he has already far exceeded his father as an athlete and I admire him to no end. Thanks Arbolito for sticking it in and hammering away.
Monday, September 9, 2013
If I were a diarist, I'd barely exist, Part 2
Returning to Seattle from Florida on the eve of my 51st birthday was arduous in that flying was uncomfortable for me, oh ye of short legs. Airplane seats, like most, are just off-positioned for my stature that they put quite a bit of strain on my knees. Even my newly minted mechanical knee was a bit unhappy. But having my son as a traveling companion more than made up for that discomfort. I would do it a ten-thousand days in a row for him.
The passage of my birthday, once so looked-forward to as a child, is not the milestone for me anymore. And not just because it signifies aging, which has its own sucky earmarks. No, living in Seattle, my birthday passing means the imminence of Fall. When I played rugby, the arrival of Fall meant an outlet, camaraderie, and my best physical shape of the year. Now, passing that date just means the obvious shortening of daylight, absence of sunshine, and a mix of yardwork that used to occupy me deep into November. Here's hoping the loss of two very mature backyard trees this changes that schedule a bit.
August also means a complete change in baseball activity. Most teams in the region hold their tryouts and seek to fill rosters for the following spring and summer. As does Arbolito's club. But them, August also means 16-days of the best baseball camp in the area. Arbolito's coach loves his teaching function, and although these camps are also money-makers and recruiting tools, he flourishes in a teaching environment. He maintains a work rate and structure to behold. Arbolito attended every day of camp, save the final three which we blocked out for a family trip to the beach.
At the beach, we did what we do. Walk the dogs. Shop for seafood and organize beautiful meals. Sit dazed in our comfy furniture with the fireplace stoked. And then develop our own stoke paddling out and surfing the bounty of wind, fetch, and ocean. This trip was truly beautiful in that Arbolito and his best friend are now completely self-sufficient in the water, paddling for and catching their own waves and reforms. Their abilities freed me to hit the outside line-up with big red, a 10 foot, single fin longboard, and show that I still charge. I do.
Returning home from the beach was, as always, a mild bummer, but welcome nonetheless. The shock of Arbolito returning to school was softened this year, as it was last year, by activities that have him and his classmates present at school before classes start. I believe theirs is a great system. And although the homework hit hard, at least in a couple of classes, right off the bat, the kid is settling into that scholastic rhythym and tempo that includes the reopening of his social life via the Friday Night Lights and Dances with Girls. If he's happy then so am I.
The passage of my birthday, once so looked-forward to as a child, is not the milestone for me anymore. And not just because it signifies aging, which has its own sucky earmarks. No, living in Seattle, my birthday passing means the imminence of Fall. When I played rugby, the arrival of Fall meant an outlet, camaraderie, and my best physical shape of the year. Now, passing that date just means the obvious shortening of daylight, absence of sunshine, and a mix of yardwork that used to occupy me deep into November. Here's hoping the loss of two very mature backyard trees this changes that schedule a bit.
August also means a complete change in baseball activity. Most teams in the region hold their tryouts and seek to fill rosters for the following spring and summer. As does Arbolito's club. But them, August also means 16-days of the best baseball camp in the area. Arbolito's coach loves his teaching function, and although these camps are also money-makers and recruiting tools, he flourishes in a teaching environment. He maintains a work rate and structure to behold. Arbolito attended every day of camp, save the final three which we blocked out for a family trip to the beach.
 |
| Big Red |
At the beach, we did what we do. Walk the dogs. Shop for seafood and organize beautiful meals. Sit dazed in our comfy furniture with the fireplace stoked. And then develop our own stoke paddling out and surfing the bounty of wind, fetch, and ocean. This trip was truly beautiful in that Arbolito and his best friend are now completely self-sufficient in the water, paddling for and catching their own waves and reforms. Their abilities freed me to hit the outside line-up with big red, a 10 foot, single fin longboard, and show that I still charge. I do.
Returning home from the beach was, as always, a mild bummer, but welcome nonetheless. The shock of Arbolito returning to school was softened this year, as it was last year, by activities that have him and his classmates present at school before classes start. I believe theirs is a great system. And although the homework hit hard, at least in a couple of classes, right off the bat, the kid is settling into that scholastic rhythym and tempo that includes the reopening of his social life via the Friday Night Lights and Dances with Girls. If he's happy then so am I.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
If I were a diarist, I'd barely exist
I get ten ideas a day when I think about writing. That's why I chap my own hide when I check in here and realize I've let yet another TWO FUCKING MONTHs elapse since my last entry. That last entry consisted of me apologizing for not posting more frequently. What a ficken' doufous!
Now it's early September, and living in Washington State USA, that means summer is over. I realize my latest lapse was failing to journal the summer. And a nice one it was, with plenty of uplifting and equally vexing occurences that are the stuff of a thoughtful life and hoperfully, an interesting journal.
July passed. That means that my son's regular baseball season with his year-round club, ended with a nice tournament showing and a league playoff run. The boy grew a bit in stature and a lot in self-confidence as his team relied on him to fill at shortstop while his teammate, the starter, was down with an injury. This lead to a three week stint where he started at the position he once loved and owned before leaping from PONY to select baseball. And he owned it yet again, opening his coaches eyes to some new flexibility in the lineup.
He also pitched for the first time since near the end of his high school season when he took leave from the mound to address some soreness in his upper arm. More on the soreness later. His coach had no desire to pitch him this summer, seeking to protect his young arm for later in his high school career, but was left with no options as our best guys were already spent. The scenario was about as "high leverage" a situation as you could ask of a youth pitcher. He actually threw really well, with a ton of velocity, but surrendured a single earned run that turned out to be the game winner.
Hopefully, you're getting the picture that this was the good stuff of a summer well-lived. And I took it all in, but never went beyond my own thoughts to journal it. Making me a poor specimen of a writer; a breed renowned for its poor specimens. Sort of like being king of the dipshits.
Arbolito continued to struggle with yet another spasm of throwing-caused soreness (this being the third, each in a different part of the arm). This time, while attending his first evaluation "showcase," he made a big throw and came up hinky. He battled the pain and showed well, but the "injury" greatly dampened the experience. I had been warned this one might not be worth attending and I've been beating myself up about going ever since that throw.
As July passed into August, we found ourselves flying to Fort Myers, Florida, my son a member of the 14U Team Northwest contingent at the Perfect Game World Series wood bat tournament. These are highly competitive, national invitational events at which the best age-group players in the country compete. At the right age-levels, these are events at which prospects can show-off for college recruiters and even professional scouts.
Arbolito nursed his way through the event, protecting his arm yet playing extremely well in centerfield and, for a few innings, at shortstop once again. Unfortunately, his worst two moments of the tournament also occured in the field at short, leading to runs that brought our nationally-ranked opponents into a 2-2 tie, and then a 3-2 loss. At the plate, the boy swung the bat well, although a somewhat picky approach that lead to 8 walks, several stolen bases and runs scored, also lead to 3 strikeouts looking, a hitter's most detested outcome.
A sports parent always wants chances for their little competitor to shine, and hopes against lapses. But the chance to travel with my son made this nine days special no matter what transpired on the field (although the good showing was deeply satisfying). Sure seven ball games in five days were great. Winning two of the last three games, including one against the #4 travel team in the country was awesome.
But so was standing waist deep in the Gulf of Mexico.
And choosing a different restaurant every night.
And swimming in the hotel pool in a tropical downpour.
And miniature golfing with a million of our very closest mosquito-friends.
And stopping into the ghetto sneaker joint, and Arbolito having a really down conversation with a super-cool hip-hop sales dude.
And visiting the campus of Florida Gulf Coast University just as freshmen (girls) were arriving for orientation.
And finding out a friend from elementary school is on the founding faculty of this very young university and meeting her for dinner during yet another tropical downpour.
An immensely satisfying trip. So much so, I just found out last night that one of my fellow Team Northwest dads is still wearing his Perfect Game Event Pass wristlet as a memento he had so much fun down there.
Continued in Part Deuce.
Now it's early September, and living in Washington State USA, that means summer is over. I realize my latest lapse was failing to journal the summer. And a nice one it was, with plenty of uplifting and equally vexing occurences that are the stuff of a thoughtful life and hoperfully, an interesting journal.
July passed. That means that my son's regular baseball season with his year-round club, ended with a nice tournament showing and a league playoff run. The boy grew a bit in stature and a lot in self-confidence as his team relied on him to fill at shortstop while his teammate, the starter, was down with an injury. This lead to a three week stint where he started at the position he once loved and owned before leaping from PONY to select baseball. And he owned it yet again, opening his coaches eyes to some new flexibility in the lineup.
He also pitched for the first time since near the end of his high school season when he took leave from the mound to address some soreness in his upper arm. More on the soreness later. His coach had no desire to pitch him this summer, seeking to protect his young arm for later in his high school career, but was left with no options as our best guys were already spent. The scenario was about as "high leverage" a situation as you could ask of a youth pitcher. He actually threw really well, with a ton of velocity, but surrendured a single earned run that turned out to be the game winner.
Hopefully, you're getting the picture that this was the good stuff of a summer well-lived. And I took it all in, but never went beyond my own thoughts to journal it. Making me a poor specimen of a writer; a breed renowned for its poor specimens. Sort of like being king of the dipshits.
Arbolito continued to struggle with yet another spasm of throwing-caused soreness (this being the third, each in a different part of the arm). This time, while attending his first evaluation "showcase," he made a big throw and came up hinky. He battled the pain and showed well, but the "injury" greatly dampened the experience. I had been warned this one might not be worth attending and I've been beating myself up about going ever since that throw.
As July passed into August, we found ourselves flying to Fort Myers, Florida, my son a member of the 14U Team Northwest contingent at the Perfect Game World Series wood bat tournament. These are highly competitive, national invitational events at which the best age-group players in the country compete. At the right age-levels, these are events at which prospects can show-off for college recruiters and even professional scouts.
 |
| Team Northwest 14U, 2013 PG World Series |
A sports parent always wants chances for their little competitor to shine, and hopes against lapses. But the chance to travel with my son made this nine days special no matter what transpired on the field (although the good showing was deeply satisfying). Sure seven ball games in five days were great. Winning two of the last three games, including one against the #4 travel team in the country was awesome.
But so was standing waist deep in the Gulf of Mexico.
And choosing a different restaurant every night.
And swimming in the hotel pool in a tropical downpour.
And miniature golfing with a million of our very closest mosquito-friends.
And stopping into the ghetto sneaker joint, and Arbolito having a really down conversation with a super-cool hip-hop sales dude.
And visiting the campus of Florida Gulf Coast University just as freshmen (girls) were arriving for orientation.
And finding out a friend from elementary school is on the founding faculty of this very young university and meeting her for dinner during yet another tropical downpour.
An immensely satisfying trip. So much so, I just found out last night that one of my fellow Team Northwest dads is still wearing his Perfect Game Event Pass wristlet as a memento he had so much fun down there.
Continued in Part Deuce.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)