Terry 13
Terry 13
By Jill Terry
We led four innings 5 to 1 then faltered to a tie. With their momentum building they pulled ahead by 4, but we came back till we were down by one and continued to hold ‘em. Our defense was strong and our determination even stronger, these boys wanted to win. First playoff game of the spring season, against one of the toughest teams in the league; top of the 6th, our last chance to tie or win with two men on base, two outs, and my baby coming up to bat. The stands were abuzz with tension, anxiety, encouragement and hope. Two foul balls…way to hang, two balls…good eye, one…Two…THREE foul tips…WAY TO STAY ALIVE!!! He looked at me, our eyes met and our hearts connected, I felt every ounce of pressure weighing down on him. With clenched fists and racing pulse, I smiled and screamed RIP IT, and that’s exactly what he did, as the ball whizzed by and landing in the catcher’s mitt. The crowd erupted and the winning team raced to the dugout with hats and gloves flying through the air, victory wet on their lips, as my baby’s heart lay on home plate and the tears welled in his eyes. I could see his shoulders trembling as he tried to stifle the sobs building inside, then his head went down and his gloved hand went to his face; shame, regret, embarrassment and heartache, at letting his team down when they needed him most. He felt like a failure and it was all-consuming. Even though every play to right field he executed perfectly, one walk and a steal to second, it all came down to that final swing of the bat. Two different coaches took him aside separately and tried to talk him through it, every member of the team rallied round him and he walked away with a game ball for showing more determination and heart than any other player that night, but on the way home he said he didn’t think he deserved it and was ashamed of himself. Not for striking out, but because when the teams lined up to walk the line and high-five each other, he was a sore looser and didn’t walk all the way through. What a MAN…
Copyright 2007 by Jill Terry. All rights reserved.
Losing, sometimes, requires so much more courage than winning. Especially in the aftermath of things. Just as in sports, it’s so important to lose at some stage or another in life as well. Keeps things in perspective.
As Emily Dickinson said, ‘Success is counted sweetest,
by those who ne’er succeed’.
Happy Mother’s Day, Jill. You have quite a little guy there.
Thank you, Jenny!
My god, don’t we live and die with our kids, and how our hearts break with them — but how blessed that love we share.
It is Mother’s Day while I read this touching piece you wrote. What a tribute it is to your motherhood.
Happy Mothers Day!
And thank you for putting me in touch with all the wonderful, and sometimes painful moments I’ve shared with my three kids, watching them endeavor to succeed. I lost one, and my baby is now 29, so I now watch each of them from a distance — but no less connected.
I’m glad you could relate! It’s the hardest thing in the world, watching them grow and being forced to let go a little more each and every day. My mother gave me this poem when I was a teenager, given to her by her maternity nurse when I was born. A friend and regular reader here at Wordsmith posted this for me not so very long ago; and now I pass it on to you…
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
Rob,
I’m glad you could relate! It’s the hardest thing in the world, watching them grow and being forced to let go a little more each and every day. My mother gave me this poem when I was a teenager, given to her by her maternity nurse when I was born. A friend and regular reader here at Wordsmith posted this for me not so very long ago; and now I pass it on to you…
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.