Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Satirical Short Story written in the p.o.v of a female high schooler on the philosophy of "everyone child is a winner."

 

Take Me Out To the Ball Game

            In today’s modern America, our children are experiencing benefits that, a few decades ago, people could only dream of having. Children are healthier and living longer through incredible advances in medicine. More importantly for parents, the world has never been gentler with respects to a child’s developing esteem. Be it school or extracurricular activities, adults are finally realizing how fragile a child’s self esteem is. It must be wonderful to look into the eyes of your child and be able to say, “Everyone’s a winner kid.”

            Now, perhaps, a senior in high school doesn’t seem like a sound critic for good parenting.  Being a twin with no older or younger siblings might add to my lack of qualifications to discuss such a subject. On the contrary, my mother’s family is a very large one and I have been a prime witness to the “results” of bad parenting. The difference lies in the simple distinction of tranquility versus chaos. I’m sure you’ve witnessed the image of a stressed mother; hair sticking out, makeup half done and sanity visibly falling out of her ears, and the painfully bratty child rolling on the floor or tugging at her arm with tears and mucus running down their red, cherub face. These scenes of chaos can be found nearly everywhere but most commonly, it seems, at grocery stores and shopping malls. Picture in contrast those little angels you see in Church on Sunday with hair combed and tied with ribbons, dressed in clean, crisp dresses and shirts, and an iridescent glow about them. Naturally, every parent desires the skills required to mold such creatures, which is why I find it important to discover these traits because I plan on being a mother some day, and every mother wants to have saints for children.  

            While attending a peer’s little league baseball game I observed the spectators in the stands and listened in on their remarks about the game. “Oh little Johnny is such an enthusiastic player,” remarked one mother to another. “Yes we are incredibly proud of him, and Alex is so good at holding up his gloved hand even when the ball is heading the opposite direction,” responded the other. “I think that shows his ability to prepare and think ahead,” the mother replied. I smiled at the remarks from such proud parents and turned to cheer on the distracted little Johnny and his “thoughtful” friend. As the children were only nine years old, the game was naturally played without keeping score. During the third quarter I noticed one child that seemed to stand out amongst his peers. He hit every ball thrown to him and ran with all his little might to reach home base. I was puzzled at this child’s enthusiasm, after all the game was only for fun and his competitive spirit worried me. It seems I wasn’t the only one as many mothers exchanged looks of disapproval. Little Johnny’s mother remarked, “It seems that Matthew Jones is getting riled up again.” She followed the phrase by pursing her lips together and staring tersely at the back of woman’s head who, I could only guess, was Mrs. Jones.  At the end of such a thrilling sports event, each team member was given a shiny, plastic, medal to honor their contributions to the game. I noticed a grandfather take his grandson to the side and begin to chide him on his inability to make the bat connect with the ball. Parents watched in horror as the gruff old man showed his little grand child the proper way to swing and how to keep his eye on the ball. Abruptly a coach sprung up from the bench and padded over to the frantic scene. “Mister I think you’re being far to hard on this child, he did very well today,” pleaded the coach. The old man turned his head and sighed, “Sir, I am proud of my grandson and I always have been, nevertheless, he’s terrible at baseball and he’ll keep being that way unless he practices.” The coach blushed crimson and nervously scratched his head. An embarrassed young couple, who had been distracted by their lawn chairs, panted over and hissed for the old man to come quietly. The child looked confusedly at the adults around him but at the mention of ice cream he smiled and ran off to join his friends.

            While one pipe bomb had been delicately defused, another threatened to detonate. It involved, of course, little Matthew Jones who was insisting to his parents and coach that his team had won. “Why do they get medals mommy, they lost,” cried Matthew in exasperation. Rather than reprimanding him his mother looked down at her son with eyes tinged in melancholy and said, “I know, son.” Well that certainly caused tension in her yoga group of friends. I could hear several mothers vindictively complaining to each other, “I for one would never let my child have such selfish opinions,” hissed one fiery eyed female. “That Matthew is going to grow up troubled,” added another ruffled old hen. Matthew and his mother made the solemn trek of shame to their blue van in the parking lot, eyes downcast from the perturbed vultures leering at them.

            Walking to my car after witnessing the spectacle, I thought about how times had changed. I felt a bit sorry for the old man; he really hadn’t meant any harm in his criticism. He came from a different and harsher world than the one his grandson currently lived in. It’s so hard for many older generations to assimilate into this modern century. The elderly gentleman was just a product of his own upbringing, and he spewed out-dated advice like many people in his situation. But one must keep in mind that to him, such words of wisdom are still relevant. Nowadays, a child need never know the feeling of losing or failing. Such trauma might break their tender little souls and result in a lifetime of misery. Children just aren’t as mentally strong as they were a few decades ago, bless their hearts, and parents must raise them accordingly. I certainly hope my own children will someday understand how much I maternally loved them. A love so strong that parents jump through hoop after metaphorical hoop to ensure that each child is confident in themselves and feels like a winner.