On Spring, Softball and Swamp Ass Season...

by Beth Williams:

March! Can you believe it? Where did January and February go? I’m lamenting that spring is a mere three weeks away, for it opens the dreaded season of Spring – or around my house, it’s called Swamp Ass Season. You know what I’m talking about. It’s that terrible condition where you sweat in the humid air and it has nowhere to travel except down. When people snicker at you at the post office and your kid asks you in front of those fifty people in line if you peed yourself – because you’re wearing green camouflage pants and swamp ass shows… oh, how it shows… I’m a little bitter at the beginning of spring because I want it to remain cool. I long for longer days and the blooms are so pretty but it means the heat is just around the corner. 
 

Yes, I’m babbling about the weather again. Didn’t I do that before? Spring brings about so much rebirth, and not just in the physical change of seasons. My Mom used to say, “The sap’s rising.” This meant that soon, we’d all end up in the Emergency Room because of sprained ankles, twisted knees, busted heads, and stitches to various body parts. Yes, we got out and played. Most of the time, we spent our springs at the ballpark while my sister played softball. I did not play softball. When I was assigned to a team, they created an extra outfield position just for me, so I could stand there in the sun for hours digging “I love Simon LeBon” in the dirt with my toe. I was quite good at it, thank you.

I didn’t last long out there, mind you. I was more interested in walking barefoot around the fields, picking up bottle caps, random pieces of glass and wood… mostly in my feet. (I spent a lot of time in the ER.)

My sister was/is the softball girl. She has played t-ball since she was five years old and up until about a year or so ago when she had, what we call, German Engineering put in her foot. She had to have major foot surgery and has had to sit out a few seasons. She spent most of her springs and falls crouched down behind home plate. 

This year, my daughter wanted to try softball. So far, she’s having a great time, but it’s hard. And I say it’s hard because I see my 7-year-old loving it, and I see her writing her name in the dirt with her toe. I’m seeing her popped in the face with softballs. Part of me cringes because I want her to enjoy this. I hated playing it. She also just looks so small compared to the other girls on her team. They’re all so confident – they’ve had a few more years practice than she has. I try to tell myself she’ll learn, but still... she’s my baby girl and I suppose I’m having a hard time letting her just be herself. I’m nervous the other kids will make fun of her… as they did me… But… she’s not me. And she has to learn how to be herself and take instructions from other people. She has to make friends and enemies and have fun and exert herself and gods forbid, let the sap rise. I suppose I’ll start saving up copays, just in case.

Has anyone else had a difficult time watching kids try new things and see them struggle?