Just Being There

It is Wednesday afternoon, and it has taken me all day to get to the point where I could write this.

The illness that has been wrecking shop on my family for the last couple of weeks finally reached its limit with me.

I’m off work.

Sleeping on and off.

Doing what I can.

School work will get finished today. Not because it has to, but because I cannot guarantee tomorrow.

But enough of that.

Let’s focus on the good things.

The things that matter.

Zoey and David just wrapped up their second day of finals.

One more half day and they are done.

And yesterday I made a deal with all the kids.

A bargain.

Next year Zoey and Asher will be back at homeschool.

David and Jacob will be in school.

Different paths.

Different goals.

But all headed toward the same thing.

Because I’ll finish this degree in April of next year, I made them a deal.

For the homeschool kids, pass your Stanford testing and be where you need to be.

For the school kids, earn exemption from finals.

Stay on top of grades.

Stay out of trouble.

Handle your business.

And if everyone does their part?

The day of awards...

We disappear.

Not a staycation.

Not staying local.

A real, week-long family vacation.

Somewhere.

The deal was accepted immediately.

David has apparently spent the last two days coaching Jacob on exactly what not to do at school if he wants to avoid detention.

Parenting victories come in strange forms.

School for me has also been... interesting.

My advisor reached out.

4.0.

Progress.

Professor comments.

Honor societies apparently paying attention.

I spent lunch updating profiles and finally pulled the trigger on putting school on LinkedIn.

I have been flying under the radar this whole time.

Only telling people that needed to know.

Or people I wanted to know.

Not because I was hiding.

I just wasn't looking for attention.

We'll see what comes of it.

Now baseball.

Jacob made his return after missing three games.

Just him and me.

Everyone else home sick or studying.

I told him before the game that if he ended up in right field, I might not make it to the fence.

Visitors side.

Different layout.

He understood.

Then coach put him in center.

And I was there.

I don't even know if he noticed.

But that isn't really the point.

It is not being noticed.

It is being there.

He had a great stop.

Ball bounced just over second.

Scooped it.

Quick flick to second.

Runner froze.

Great play.

Then came his at bat.

Bases loaded.

Big smile.

Ready.

Being left-handed at this age is an adventure.

Pitchers are still learning.

Still finding control.

Most kids bat right-handed.

Jacob does not.

He has also been hit by pitches...

a lot...

this season.

This pitcher wasn't wild exactly.

Just developing.

Wild pitches let the bases clear before Jacob ever saw his fourth pitch.

Walked.

Three runs crossed.

No RBI technically.

But there were three.

Next pitch?

Gone.

Stole second.

Two pitches later?

Gone again.

Third.

Then everything slowed down.

The pitcher let go of one and even before it reached the plate, Jacob knew.

His eyes got wide.

High.

Outside.

Wild.

Crack.

Gone.

No slide.

Straight home.

Safe.

Huge smile.

Back to the dugout.

13–2.

Good night.

Then somebody casually mentioned another game.

Next night.

Same field.

Same time.

Having a shot for his last game, we all went.

The sick.

The tired

The whole family.

What nobody knew...

Including most of the parents...

Was that this surprise game?

This was the championship.

Not another regular season game.

Not a makeup game.

The championship.

Ninety-two degrees at game time.

Eighty-eight at 8:30.

Kids melting.

Parents melting.

Everybody surviving.

Jacob struck out once.

Got moved around the field.

We talked through the fence.

The way dads do.

Small things.

Nothing important.

Everything important.

Then the final out.

10–8.

Game over.

Champions.

Not participation medals.

Not end-of-season handshakes.

Champions.

The trophy wasn't for finishing the season.

The trophy was for winning it.

Jacob's first season.

First championship.

Trophy.

Medals.

And one more thing.

At the beginning of the season I bought fifteen baseballs.

One for each player.

One for each coach.

And all season long they passed around a green bag full of balls and blue Bic pens.

Everybody signed everybody else's.

Because why not?

So Jacob came home from his first season with a trophy.

A signed baseball.

Questions about next year.

Questions about summer training.

And eventually...

asleep with his glove wrapped in his arms.

Smile still on his face.

Maybe being a parent slowly changes the definition of success. It becomes less about big milestones and more about noticing the little things. Standing at the fence. Being there even if nobody realizes it. Watching your kid fall asleep with his glove in his arms after winning a championship he didn't even know he was playing for. There are moments where life quietly reminds you that while you were busy surviving, something beautiful was growing anyway.

This is a grounded moment where sometimes the greatest thing you can do is simply show up.

Much love. Stay safe. Wash your damn hands. I'll see you Friday.