Like Parent, Like Son

My grandson, who just turned three, is already hitting line drives. He’ll do it off a tee or with someone pitching to him, it doesn’t matter. Come spring, I’ll give him the bat his mom used at that age. The one he has now is closer to modified Flintstones than a full-on caveman club. Either way, he should in the not-too-distant future be swinging something with a narrower circumference. Clare did at three years and ten months, so that’s when we’ll do it with Leo, if only at Grandma and Grandpa’s house; I don’t want to be the overbearing grandparent, visiting grandparent, that is. I’m pretty sure the kid will do just fine when the time comes. As it is, Clare is in full hitting-instructor mode, positioning his feet and teaching him to shift his weight as he swings the bat. She’s pretty good at it, too. She must’ve had a good teacher. My grandson is also big into football, which isn’t too surprising, given that his dad played in college and presently coaches a high school team. Last week, we spent a good half-hour with me hiking a small-sized ball and Leo running from one end of his back porch to the other, at which point he would knock me down and shout, “Touchdown! Let’s do it again, Grandpa.” When we got home, my chest actually from where he kept jamming the ball into it as he knocked me to the floor. At least by sitting, I didn’t have that far to go. The boy is also musical, like his dad, who plays the guitar. Leo, though, has shown a more-than-passing interest in the piano; there’s one at his daycare. Paderewski meets Musial meets Gronkowski. I can’t wait.