When I was a kid, my brother played little league. I remember going to his games, sitting on the bleachers, and enjoying the springtime sun. It was nice.
Sign-ups for our local little league were in January, and when I asked Lola if she wanted to play t-ball, she looked at me and said, "What is this t-ball?"
After convincing another parent in Lola's preschool class that she should also sign up her little girl for little league, and making a request to the league that the girls play on the same team, we signed Lola up.
She was "drafted" to the Indians.
At her first few practices she was unsure about herself, but she has worked hard to learn the rules (i.e., run to first base first, and always throw the ball to first base. (I've learned that there is a significant focus on first base in t-ball.))
When playing in the outfield, the coaches always tell the kids, "Get in ready position," which generally means squat, with your hands on your knees, and watch the batter. Lola takes her "ready position" very seriously. So seriously, that she often misses the ball when it rolls by her because she is too focused on maintaining perfect ready form.
She also had the opportunity to play catcher. At the t-ball level, what this really means is that she got to put on the catcher outfit for an inning, and stand approximately 6 feet away from the batters who are other 4 and 5-year-old kids wildly swinging metal bats. I appreciate that the catcher's gear includes a heavy duty helmet.
At the end of each game, I like to ask her what was her favorite part of the game. Most days she says that she loves running around the bases, other days it's the post-game trips to the snack bar. I can't blame her. Snack bar food is pretty darn good.
