Jersey #24

The day starts off early with a quiet breakfast and Bible time at the kitchen table (Psalm 106). I make a decaf latte – espresso, steamed milk, sugar free vanilla and sugar free caramel and it was smooth and well-rounded. (T. likes it so much he’s made it “his drink” – the T. special.) I am not alone, but the rest of the house was still snoring softly, each found in their own favorite, comfortable positions. T. is on right side, head covered by blanket, one leg out, one sock on. A. is flat on her back, covers to her chin, like she is waiting for her Prince Charming to give her the kiss which will bring her awake. N. is flat on his back, pillow under his back, neck arched, mouth WIDE open like a Venus Fly Trap awaiting its unsuspecting prey. K. is in a tight ball, on her left side hugging her blanket.

They are so precious when they are sleeping, they take my breath away. Their schedule has been very packed with the baseball/softball schedule, and my TANK has been up late each night this week – 11:30 p.m., 11:45 p.m. From one game or another, some in different cities, some at home, we have been finding ourselves getting home long after dark and long after an acceptable bed time. So they are not the usual early risers they had been during the school year.

I have bowls on the table ready for breakfast cereal, and one by one they appear, still warm from sleep. (This morning’s order K., A., N., T.) Now that they are all awake, our morning will begin. The list of chores is set, ready for someone to sign up and complete, and when they are finished the rest of the day is free for them, so they try to get it done before 11.(One of the chores is making mom a latte – I am no dummy! I got a twofer!!! And T. loves making them.) Words of encouragement help stop the brewing argument, “But I want to get to clean the bathroom, it’s my favorite job!” by knowing there is a bathtub over here that needs cleaning. “Oh great!” they say with excitement and run off, and I am left in a quizzical query, “Could that really be my boy?” I leave to go pick up the bread donations from the two bakeries in town and then I have a scheduled dental cleaning and check up.

I don’t know about you, but I really like going to the dentist; I always have. My dentist in this town has turned out to be my favorite of the past 18 years, for many reasons, and they love my Salvation Army insurance because they get paid so promptly and sufficiently. They make sure they compliment me every time I am there, whether myself or with my TANK, about the very thorough and inclusive medical protection offered under the umbrella of my insurance. I have to agree with them.

So I arrive slightly early and sit with my book: I have been looking forward to reading all week long. There hasn’t been a moment that stopped or even paused for these 14 days. Dave has been in Chicago for two weeks, and although I was glad my husband was able to receive such a blessed opportunity, it meant the fire under my schedule was going to get turned up.

On HIGH.

And not just regular HIGH, but Super Duper HIGH, like when the flames under the pasta pot are reaching out and up the sides of the cookware, with the contents boiling higher and higher, encroaching on the top and threatening to boil over. Reading helped pass the time lovingly and in what felt like no time, the dental hygienist Ms. Pearly Teeth calls my name and I follow her through the labyrinth to her workspace and find myself comfortable in the big dentist chair. It has been the first time my mind had been quiet for so long.

The lighting is not as bright as in the hallway, the view from the window is of a lush wooded area, and the music playing is soft. I feel relaxed already and don’t anticipate anything unusual to happen in this visit, just a cleaning and a new toothbrush and free floss. She is a quiet soul, who attends straight to her work after only a few sentences of conversation.

I can hear Ingrid Michaelson’s music over the speaker, and I keep myself from humming so I can hear her; she has a pretty voice. “If you are chilly, here take my sweater.” Oh, I really like this love song from her recording that she did without a label. “Your head is aching, I’ll make it better.” In my imagination I see her video of clowns and one person who is not a clown and sequentially not accepted because of the difference. “Cuz I love the way you call me baby” the bridge, the rhythm, the clapping. “For you take me the way I am.” And then it happened. And I couldn’t stop it.

The tears slid out, silently, running slowly down my cheek, and since my feet we elevated above my head, they went straight to each ear. First left, then right, then left again. I didn’t want to cry: I didn’t have time to cry. But there it was; and my ears were filling up like tiny swimming pools. Ms. Pearly Teeth was worried, “Did I hurt you? Was I too rough on your gums? Did I give you pain?” she asks quietly as she reaches for a Kleenex.

“No, please forgive me. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I strive to say with a steady voice, unsuccessfully masking the fact that I am thoroughly choked up.

“I must have given you too much time to think,” she shares, as she grabs another tissue for me and continues back to her inspection of my bicuspids and incisors and gums.

“For you take me the way I am.”

No, it isn’t the dental cleaning that has brought pain, but here is the first time I have had to reflect more about the pain this baseball season has been for my oldest, my T. It has been in the garbage can for so long, and the comparison between his ball team and ANK’s ball teams have been like night and day. A. plays in every game, and even though she isn’t a stellar athlete, she is in many positions and has been practicing pitching, from encouragement from her coach. N. has the world’s best coaching staff and has had a World Series Hall of Fame baseball season, excelling in so many ways especially as pitcher and catcher. (He is a kid-based ESPN highlight film every game: he plays outta his mind and I can’t keep his uniform clean from all of the grass and dirt stains from sliding and catching, etc.) K. is a fierce player, strong and decisive and has been a pitcher and 1st base all season. She hits, she bunts, she steals, she slides and she runs like the wind! Her coaches are over the moon about her and find ways to help her improve even more. (Last night they had her team party at the Alliance Salvation Army and she got the Best Attitude Award from her team – they love her and she loves them.)

And then there is T.s team.

T. has only played ½ of an inning in the month of June, and today’s date is June 26. He has played 15 minutes in the last 6 weeks, and that includes a few double headers in which he didn’t play for 16 innings. His coaches cruelly treat him like he is invisible, at practice and in games. This team has won and lost and they have done it all without him, exiling him and 2 other boys to the bench while the other 9 athletes are in the field every time, are in the batting lineup every time, are protected by the coaches to assure their play time every time. All of these other 9 are coach’s boys, or long-time friends of the family, These other 9 athletes, the “real team of starters” stay on the field even when they are hurt, limping, with sprained ankles, intense leg cramps or throwing up. There are no substitutes ever made for any of “the real players” even though the other benched athletes are ready and eager to be an active member of this team. It is not a team filled with elite athletes, but average kids who do well and also make mistakes.

“For you take me the way I am.” I have been longing for these coaches to take T. for who he is and let him be an active part of this team. Their behavior has passed unfair and stepped into treacherous, and they are in full authority of what they are doing. I have pleaded with them. My husband has talked with them, too. And for nothing, but another game without field or batting, another to add to the growing pile of disappointment.

T. has been to every practice possible and only missed a minimal amount of games, and those because they were scheduled at the last minute, for Memorial Day weekend which was a schedule conflict with the NEOSA BRASS performance weekend in Toledo. I have been so proud of him under this kind of terrible pressure – he feels terrible about the whole thing, and yet is still respectful to his coaches. He has lost his temper, but only a little in the privacy of his own room.

“For you take me the way I am.” When T. hurts, I feel a deep pain too, and am upset that I have not been able to persuade anyone to see it any different or do anything about it. I have been ineffective. I have been a failure. My new baseball friends on this team are embarrassed about being so excited about how much their athlete is playing, trying to hide it in my presence. I am excited about how well their boys are playing, too, especially when they are doing well. They have found it hard to sit around me, just as perplexed by these selfish coaching decisions, so I have frequently found myself following them to spend some time each game to talk and such. These selfish coaching decisions have made sure their sons play every inning of every game – an athlete’s dream. T. is a good athlete and loves hockey and loves baseball. Their seasons don’t conflict so up until now, he has had very good experiences in the spring with a baseball team. He hits well, he fields well, he throws well – as well as anyone else on this team, but these coaches won’t give him a second look. Or even a first look. He. Is. Invisible. My heart has been in conflict and torment over his burden.

So as Ms. Pearly Teeth returns the big dentist chair to its original locked and upright position, my ears now have the legitimate contents of the Erie Canal streaming out of each one onto my shirt, creating a very unique striping, zigzag pattern. It’s actually quite fetching, if it would have been intentional. She snags another tissue for me, with the concern, “I hope it will get better.” It won’t, I know that. T.’s baseball season lasts another 2 weeks, more games he won’t get to play, that his coaches won’t tell him why he won’t get to play. And they won’t take him the way he is – the magnificent, amazing, incredible man-in-training wearing a ball cap and jersey #24.