It started on a Saturday morning in mid-July. The pacing. My son was in Florida on his first tournament with his travel 15 & U baseball team. We sent him off on Thursday with the team. It was his first flight without us. Friday's game was rained out. He was going to play on Saturday.
It would be the first game my husband didn't attend in all these years. He coached our son's little league team forever. He thought he would be able to handle the suspense. He literally paced in the living room waiting for a call from another dad who went down for the games. Up and down the wood floor. How did they do? How did my son play? How was his swing? Did he pitch? What's the competition like?
I looked at my husband and said, "Let's go." He tied up loose ends at work, and we drove all night. We actually drove INTO Tropical Storm Debbie to see the games. To be there. I'm grateful that we were free to leave. I can't even imagine what it would be like to pace and know that I can't leave. Blagojevich is a loving father. I'm not sure what sports his daughter's were in, if any. But I know he paces.
The games were fun, but my son was struggling. He pitched a great game against tough players from Miami. However, he just couldn't connect when he went up to bat. I was so grateful that my husband was able to talk to him. "Take a step back from the plate. Your arms grew. You're hitting the ball in the center of the bat, not the end."
We drove home a few days later. So grateful that the rain stopped. Grateful for a chance to see the beaches along the Gulf of Mexico and to have lunch on Captiva Island. It was a long ride. Better to drive than to have spent the time pacing.