What's in a name?

May 7, 2012

This past weekend marked Nathan’s second official opening day for baseball. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I was the one who kept him away so long. I didn’t see how Nathan could participate or get anything out of playing adapted baseball other than being injured. I knew there were buddies who are paired up with each kid, but I knew Nathan didn’t have the reflexes to even flinch if a line drive came zipping his way. Then we attended a game.

People drive from greater distances than ours (almost 50 minutes away) but every single one knows the drive will be worth it. As you pull up to the field you can feel the same electricity and energy from some of the greatest baseball stadiums anywhere. The music plays and the sound of the announcer getting everyone revved up for what’s to happen next.

You see the players who know the game and imitate their favorite stars. You see the joy and feel the excitement as crutches, braces, feet and wheelchairs cross home plate. Every player wearing their team uniform, knowing they’ve made it to the Big League.

The only thing I don’t understand about these festivities is the name. It’s called the Miracle League, “the place where dreams come true.” I understand the dreams part, but to call the kids’ participation a miracle, seems a bit overstated. Granted, each player has bigger challenges off the field than on, but to be on a team, giving it their all, is not much more than what they do, day after day, most with the biggest smiles on their face you’d ever seen.

Each parent knows what a privilege it is to be part of something that ‘typical’ kids do, but to nearly all of the players, they don’t see it as a fluke or watered down activity. They go out and do their best, play until everyone has their chance. They get the snacks when the game’s over and make those silly grins biting into orange wedges in the dugout. They’re playing baseball, they’re part of a team.

It’s always neat for me to see the local varsity teams who come to watch and help out. To see the kids who typically don’t look down upon special needs kids, they just don’t know what to say. Baseball brings them together. Most junior high and high school kids remember the teams they grew up on. The games where no one ever made the throw to first base, or watched the ball roll through their legs. The games where the arrogant kids scooted up, taunting ‘easy-out’ just before the ball gets launched over their head.

I don’t call it a miracle. I call it motivational, moving, magnificent, magical. I often feel like the league should be sponsored by Kleenex as there are so many tears, so much promise that happens on the field, that many parents don’t want the feeling to end.

This year, I’m trying something new. I’m trying to step down from being Nathan’s buddy. This year I’m just a fan. Granted, the kinda fan who’s still on the field, taking pictures, giving pointers to the new buddy, what to expect and keeping Nathan out of trouble and interested. I can’t say that it’s easy, but a lesson I still need to learn.

I know it’s selfish, but the part I’ll probably miss most is the handshakes after the game. As a player, I frequently hated it. Not because I disliked the other team, but because I really didn’t appreciate it. Watching these kids play their game, doing their best, whatever that may mean to each individual, is something I appreciate and enjoy watching time and again. 

I can count the number of Major League Baseball games I’ve been to on my fingers, and I will say that they were fun, but nothing has really given me a greater love for the game than watching these kids week after week. Yes, take me out to the ballgame. None of these kids will ever make millions playing sports, but I’m not embarrassed to say that each one is the hero, I want to be when I grow up.