By Jennifer Bauer
Written for #11
“After the Game,
the King and The pawn
go into the same box.”
Italian Proverb
As a child I remember the wallpaper in my room, the comfort that loud family dinners brought, and always wanting to play. I loved games: card games, board games, sports, Ol’ Gray Wolf, Hide and Seek, Chinese Frozen Tag, Sardines, Red Rover…anything! Anything that is that involved silly rules and people gathering to have fun. I remember vividly one day when I couldn’t find anyone to play catch with. I sat on our couch, tossing up a baseball, and feeling very sad. As I sat there pouting, my dad snapped off a Polaroid picture of me. Being the youngest of six, I learned early that Polaroid snapshots were special….even ones of long faced, 10-year-old little girls. I kept it. Every time I look at it I still remember how sad I felt in that moment. I didn’t realize it then, but that would turn out to be the first time that I ever “sat” the bench. I didn’t play it very well.
Thirty years and two kids later I still have that same passion for games. And as far as playing the bench….well our son Zach has taught me a lot. As I write this, he is throwing a baseball into his glove, waiting for his friend Mark to don his shoes so they can go play catch. The aroma of well-worn adolescent shoes, the thud of a baseball hitting a glove, and an easy conversation between two friends fill the air. I pause to listen. “How was All Stars?” Mark asks as he finishes lacing his shoes. “Good, we won the Berrien Springs Tournament!” Zach declares. Mark nods, “Cool, How did you do at Eaton Park?” “Great, we made it to the semi-finals and won the Sportsmanship Award,” Zach announces. “Wow!” Mark exclaims, “You guys must be good! Who do you think is the worst player on your team?” My ears perk up at this question; I turn around ready to give my standard knee jerk reaction to a question that requires a negative response. Before I can utter a word, out of the corner of my eye I catch Zach putting up his hand, “me” he replies with a smile that fills his face! “You are not! You goof!” Mark objects as he slaps him with his mitt and chases him out the door. I turn back around thinking ‘there it is once again’. The wise answer. The compassionate answer. I wonder to myself, what happened to our smack talking, wise cracking, 11-year-old boastful boy. In the baseball movie Field of Dreams, Terrence Mann describes watching a baseball game as magical. In a conversation he has with Ray Kinsella about his baseball field he states, “People will come Ray. They’ll watch the game and it’ll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters.” I believe Zach dove head first into those waters this summer.
A summer that started out like many others. The end of the school year dash: scurrying to find misplaced library books, thank-you gifts for the kids’ teachers, conferences, assemblies, graduations, open houses, run, run, run, then finally… ahhhhh. Sweet summer. Long days filled with sunshine, and of course baseball. Zach was on the Mets this year. First base was his home. He loved that base and played it well, or in his words, “protected” it well. The season flew by. It wasn’t long before whispers of All Stars started permeating the bleachers. I didn’t pay very much attention. Zach would have to move up to the U12 division, and being only 11, I knew it would be a coin toss whether or not he would make it. He did. Those magic waters were getting closer.
During the first All Star practice, the coaches called a parent meeting. We were assembled onto the bleachers, our home away from home, and given the low-down about this year’s season. “I’m not going to lie to you; there is a big possibility that some of the kids won’t see any playing time. We have 13 boys on our team, and when we can only play nine at a time that means that four will have to sit the bench. We are going to do everything we have to do to win these tournaments,” the coach explained as I continued to watch the practice behind him. I had a strong intuition that Zach was going to be one of the four. The longer I watched, the more apprehensive I became. Zach has never sat the bench for more than a few innings his entire baseball career. I have known kids who have spent a lot of time on the bench, and it destroyed their confidence, and their joy of baseball along with it. I didn’t want this to happen to Zach. I thought of Jim Stovall’s words in his book the Ultimate Gift, ”When you learn from your problems you begin to deal with life, when you learn from others’ problems you begin to master it.” It was time to learn.
The night before his first game Zach had his friend Goerge over. “So what position are you going to play?” he asked. “I don’t know, probably outfield or first,” Zach answered. “Do you think you’ll start,” George continued. “Yes, but I don’t know where.” Zach said. There it was. My opportunity. I seized it. “Hey Zach,” I called out from the kitchen, “with so many kids on the team they may also ask you to play the bench.” “You mean sit the bench mom? How can you “play” the bench,” he snickered as he sent George an eye roll. “Actually Zach, I think playing the bench is the most important position on the team, and definitely the most difficult. You have to cheer your team on, pay attention, be ready to play at all times, and help out where ever you can. In fact, you are basically in charge of the team’s morale. Someone who plays the bench well can make a huge difference in the outcome of the game,” I explained. Zach froze. A seed was planted. A seed he didn’t want to think about. “Let’s go play video games George,” and with that they were off.
The first game couldn’t come soon enough. My intuition was correct. Zach played the bench. Although his team lost, he was up cheering after every play. He was the first to high five the players that crossed home plate. He ran out between innings to warm up the outfielder closest to the dugout. His dad, Drew, and I were in awe. He sparkled. Since it was a double elimination tournament we played the following day as well. The following morning when Zach’s plans to go golfing got cancelled due to a storm I noticed tears well up in his eyes. When I asked him what was the matter the tears started. “ I can’t play golf, and I won’t play baseball tonight!” he explained. “Why won’t you play baseball?” I asked confused. “Because, I’ll probably have to play the bench again,” he sighed. “Hmmmm, well how about if you go outside and play baseball now. The storm passed. I bet Zane and Mark are home,” I suggested. I recently read where many times strong intuitions are followed by coincidences. Sure enough, at that moment there was a knock at the door. It was Mark wanting to play baseball. Hence a tradition was born that day. On game days, Zach would play baseball before his game.
The second game was much like the first. However, this time we won. I could hardly recognize Zach in the dugout. This once serious boy was often bouncing off the bench cheering for every player. I found myself beginning to nudge my bleacher mates ‘did you see that! Did you see how Zach jumped out of the dug out to congratulate Jackson on his homerun!” I thought they must think I’m silly, that was until they began nudging me, pointing out the same things. I couldn’t believe how amiable he was handling not playing. I hoped it would last. I caught myself worrying that we hadn’t prepared him enough for having to be on the bench. All I did was plant the seed. It was then that I noticed the towering Oak hovering over left field. Its colossal branches reaching into the sky, touching the clouds. I smiled as I thought of the acorn.
As the season progressed, so did our learning curve. As a scheduling glitch they had us scheduled to play on the Fourth of July weekend. We have always pilgrimaged to Pickerel Lake, our Mecca, to celebrate the 4th with my family. I was devastated. I decided to give Zach the choice of whether to play, or go up north to see his Grandparents and cousins. When he simply responded, “Mom, I made a commitment to this team; I am going to stay and play this weekend,” I was overwhelmed. Later that same night our phone rang. Zach answered. I waited for him to hand it over, figuring it was for me. “How did I do tonight?” he repeated aloud so I could hear. It was his aunt. We shared a look and I just shrugged my shoulders signaling for him to answer. He then nodded and smiled,” We did great! We won!” It was then that I knew we were going to make it through this season. There it was. The wise answer once again. It isn’t about him, or any one player. It is about the team, and Zach was finally learning that. We all were.
During the 6th inning of one game we were startled when we heard his coach shout to the ump, “Pinch hitter; Bauer hitting for Starkey.” Zach cast us a thumbs up as he grabbed his bat and threw his helmet on. He didn’t even have time to put on his batting gloves. I think he was as surprised as we were. He hit the second pitch. It was a line drive past the short stop. His dad jumped up and yelled, “That’s the way to hit the ball Zach!” Followed by his famous whistle. As Drew sat down I wondered how Zach’s new position was affecting him. He began teaching Zach how to play baseball before he could walk! “Jen, watch our son hit this ball!” He would call to me as I worked in the yard. Sure enough, there he would be, barely standing up, leaning against his father’s legs with a bat readying himself to hit a baseball off a tee! He was amazing even back then. Drew taught him everything he knows about the game; which is a great deal as he grew up eating, breathing, and living baseball. His parents had volunteered to build the Harbert Community Baseball field on their property. This was no ordinary ball park; with a groomed infield and outfield, a concession stand, and even lights it was a ‘Field of Dreams’ for many of the local youth, and adults. Never did I realize this so much as when I started teaching Middle School in the vicinity of where Drew Grew up.
Being a secondary teacher we hold our Parent/Teacher conferences in the cafeteria. In an ala carte fashion parents walk around looking for their child’s teachers and then stand in line until he/she has an opening. I can remember my first conference after I married Drew. I was so proud to place my new nameplate, Mrs. Bauer, in front of my table. It didn’t take long for parents to pass by my table, look down, and then inquire if I was related to the “Bauer ballpark” Bauers. When the answer was yes, they would take a seat and proceed to share their memories with me from their youth. I heard many stories about Bauer Ball Park during those conferences: About playing with Jeff Peterek on that field, who later played for the Brewers, about magical moments between fathers and sons, about home-runs and Grand Slams, about childhood crushes, about teams, about injuries, and about life lessons. It wasn’t always just the players. I would also hear stories from the Coke Man who delivered the soda syrup every week to the concession stand who is now the Chief of Police, From the manager of the company who donated colorful Panels for the Outfield fences, From the insurance Agent who sold his first $1,000,000 liability policy to Warren Bauer, Drew’s dad, to insure the ball park, and even the ump who missed calling out “STEEEERIKE!” Many times the parents would come back to visit during the next set of conferences armed with pictures and newspaper clippings. It seemed more times than not I spent Conferences listening to the parents talk about their childhoods, versus their children’s’. I began to understand why whenever Drew watched Field of Dreams he cried when Ray Kinsella called out “Hey….Dad, you wanna have a catch?” Now I cry with him.
As I sat with him on the bleachers, our daughter Camille tucked between us, watching Zach on first, I knew that these were new waters for him too. I whispered, “Tomorrow’s a double header, maybe Zach will play one of the games.” Drew simply took my hand and said, “And maybe he won’t. And that’s okay.” It was then that I knew we were learning together. Growing together. The double header came and went. The coach began putting Zach in more as a pinch hitter. We won some games, and lost some games, but Zach’s attitude never faltered. Friends would call and give advice: “Talk to the coach, Zach should be playing more”, “You know the squeaky wheel gets the grease”, ect. Drew and I kept our silence. We were content at playing the bench, or “bleachers” in our case, right along with our son.
That is until the semi-finals at Eaton Park. As fate would have it, during the semi-finals our catcher got hurt in the third inning. We all clapped as he was escorted off the field and herded into the dugout. It was then that we heard “Bauer take first!” In an instant we turned to see Zach standing on first base. With a big smile and nod he found us in the bleachers and threw us a thumbs up sign. He was home. The team played well. Zach finished with two hits, and no errors. It would turn out to be the last game of the season. Although we lost, we ended up receiving the sportsmanship award, the tournaments highest honor. In the story My Grandfather’s Blessings Rachael Naomi Remen writes, “I was raised to read the tealeaves in life, to examine every life event to determine if it was fortunate or unfortunate. The fortunate ones were painless, easy, and happy; the unfortunate ones were not. Although I once was certain, I no longer believe that I can tell the difference. As my father, a dedicated and somewhat addicted gin rummy player, would say, “It’s not in the hand; it’s in the way that you play it.” I will always remember this All Star season. I think Zach played it just right.
