Go With the Flow

So, whenever my grandson sees me, it’s “Grandpa, let’s play baseball,” which he wanted to do at my mother-in-law’s on Tuesday. But Great-Grandma doesn’t have a bat around; Mom didn’t pack one; and neither did I. Clare did, however, come with two gloves and a ball along with a soccer ball. I’ve been playing with Leo long enough to gauge his development; it’s what I would call “steady.” The kid can hit the ball a mile, when he’s serious, which is not all the time. With his mom, it was all “Pitch, dammit,” or whatever Clare said as a five-year old. As for throwing and catching, Leo pretty much rates as your typical (almost) four-year old. Here's what caught my attention Tuesday in Great-Grandma’s yard—the kid’s a natural with a soccer ball. No touching it with his hands or goofing around, just dexterous footwork that I certainly didn’t expect to see from someone so young. I mentioned this to Clare when she came out to check on us. “I know,” answered my daughter. “And the thing is, we really haven’t done anything with him about soccer.” No, it’s all baseball and football from Mom and Dad, with a little basketball mixed in. Should I be happy or sad? Do I put a wiffle ball in my grandson’s hands to keep the soccer ball out of action? The best thing, I think, is go with the flow. Leo will be what he’ll be. If his extended family, the White Sox and Rob Manfred can’t win him over to the national pastime, that’s on us. With luck, he’ll get this run-and-kick thing out of his system. If not, I’ll just have to learn the rules to a new game.