For those of you who can remember....

Don't worry about the NASCAR thing, both my boys learned to count by using the numbers of the cars as guides. If you like other sports, they will too. But in case you're really worried, (I wouldn't be though,) get them involed with T-Ball, wiffle ball or whatever. My oldest started playing T-Ball at age 5 while the youngest started at the Sardis League at age 4. Both my boys still like NASCAR, (as do I) but fortunately, they will watch a ball game before anything else.

 

Little Guy

My son started hitting at 18 months old. It may have only been a nerf ball and bat, but after supper every night I would sit in my recliner and make pitch after pitch. If the ball hit above the picture on the wall behind the couch, it was a homerun. He would run around the coffee table and slide into the imaginary home plate, all this while the Braves played on the TV. It’s hard to believe they grow up so fast.

 

little boys

My son was 18 months old, and had his own bat,batting gloves, and shoes and would have to play everyday for hours. I would have to pitch over hand to him because he would get mad if I would throw underhand to him,he would say thats not how they do it, throw the ball right. From that time until right now he still has the same desire for the game, the desire to continue to get better and be the best he can be at the game he loves! I still love to throw BP to him and watch him play the game he loves.

 

thanks

for all of the responses. It has been fun to read.....and though my time is yet to come where I will have these same type stories, reading yours has made me think back to when I was a kid.

In my front yard with my dad, first time we ever really played catch. I was five maybe six years old. Dad told me to hold my glove up, and try to catch the ball when he threw it. Of course, we were using a real baseball (as we should have). Well he throws it, and I caught it........with my face. Very first throw my dad ever made to me. Black eye, some tears......mom yelling at him.........

flash forward to age 19, just finished up with my college season. Me and my dad back in the front yard, decided to toss it around a bit. I let one go this time (unintentionally) he wasn't quite expecting the pace I assume and...........you guessed it, grazed off his glove and right past his ear. If it had caught him flush, it wouldn't have been pretty. He just looked at me and laughed.........asked if I was trying to pay him back.

My dad coached me until I was about 11 years old. At that point he stopped. I didn't undersatnd why until he sat me down and told me that he never wanted me to feel like he had some part in why I made a team or was getting playing time. Guess he saw some parents back then trying to have that little "extra" input on thier sons "success" adn thougth this was the best way to do things. I don't know.

The thing is though, he was all the reason for my "successes" because of what he gave to me as a father. The time he spent in the backyard, watching me play from the stands, taking me to practice, supporting me, challenging me and loving me, working extra to get me a glove, bat or whatever. Even though he didn't coach me on the field anymore, he did much more. He was coaching me in the game of life, and more importantly now, coaching me on how to be a dad.

Again - thanks for all the reply's. Part of me can't wait till I have some of these experiences for myself, but my wife keeps telling me not to rush it. She's probably right.

 

Anybody else have the constant reminder of all all the hours playing catch? The chronic sore right shoulder!!!!!

 

Outstanding post

 

I remember the exact place...

though not the exact date. He and I were coming home from Southern Pines after visiting a relative. He was almost four, about the time one can have an actual conversation with a child that doesn't involve "gimmie! gimmie!" or "mine! MINE!". He and I had watched the Braves together on TV as well as the world series. He had always liked playing with balls as most boys do... not those balls!

Anyway, we were riding along on US-1 and just south of Sanford is a small baseball field next to a National Guard Armory. I noticed some kids on the field and exited the highway. We pulled up and got out to watched as they practiced with their coaches. We stayed about thirty minutes and he never took his eyes off the action on the field. As we headed on home up the highway he looked at me and said "I can do that", and since then he has!

 

I have pictures of my oldest son at about six months old sitting between his dad's legs batting balls (lefthanded, of course!) that were rolled to him across the kitchen floor! I also have a video of him hitting a pitched wiffle ball at 18 months! I can't remember a time when he wasn't interested in baseball. Must be in the genes...