The Hitting Coaches

With her husband cheering on his brother, who was running the Chicago Marathon, Clare and Leo came over for dinner yesterday. When he wasn’t running through the house (sometimes with dustpan and whiskbroom in hand) or playing with the toy collection I’ve assembled, Leo was the subject of conversation. Well, he’s always the subject of conversation, only this particular line concerned hitting. Clare has a large backyard, perfect for hitting off a tee. My daughter also believes in the benefits of outdoor play. As a five-year old, she’d drag me outside to play catch in the yard, never mind the temperature. No snow on the ground, Dad, let’s go out. So, Clare being Clare, she’s trying to impart good hitting habits onto her son, only he won’t listen. (Another trait inherited from his mother, I might add.) Most times, he stands right next to the tee, effectively jamming himself. Considering he can hit a ball the proverbial mile those few times he steps back, it’s a little frustrating, at least for parent-coaches. “He's two months past his second birthday,” I reminded Clare. “Wait until spring. That’s when he should be ready.” If he keeps jamming himself, I know what comes next. My daughter will want me to come up with an idea on how to change that. I’m thinking, I’m thinking.