There was a man hanging around the backstop of our little league field. This man was a fan. He stood directly behind home plate and encouraged kids. The backstop consisted of a tall, chain-link fence enclosure and I remember the man leaning against it with his fingers wrapped around the fence. I was up to bat and he encouraged me to keep my eye on the ball and so forth. I got a hit. Actually, that day I got 3 hits, a double and 2 singles. It was my best day in little league. Neighbors and people in our town stopped my mom and I on the street saying they heard I had a really good game. It was special.
What was special to me was that this guy encouraged me and I fed off of it and performed. Not to sound like a poor kid, but nobody else had. Don't get me wrong here, my mother would go on to be a great 5:00 am hockey mom, but I don't remember her going to my little league games. My sisters? Nope. My brother? Well, actually he was an assistant coach, but he was busy helping the pitchers warm up, etc. And my dad, well let's just say the only time he ever spent any time with me as far as baseball was concerned was the day of little league tryouts, my mom made him try to give me some hitting tips in our backyard while I was standing on our patio. Nice.
So, yesterday I was walking our yellow lab Molly and we walked to a baseball field that only had a backstop. I stood behind the backstop and remembered the unidentified stranger who had encouraged me that special day. I am pretty sure he had no idea of the impact his encouragement had, but I do. Thanks man.
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