The love of baseball seems to run in families. Mine was one of them as my brother was quite a skilled player–catcher, hitter, 3rd baseman. My two sons played as they were growing up and now one of my sons is coaching 3 teams–a Little League Majors team, a travel club team, and assisting with a Little League AA team. That’s a lot of baseball.

I decided to walk a different path today at the local middle school. It was dusk and I figured I had just enough time before the sun set to get in a good walk. I noticed that there was a young baseball team having practice. As I walked I could hear the chatter of 10-year old boys joshing and hollering, laughing and living their best life. It made my heart so happy.

As I approached the backstop area, it was getting dark. A few parents had gathered to pick up their sons. The coach had the boys facing each other in two lines. On his command, one line started chucking 10-inch nerf balls at the other side. The coach called the outs. (If you got hit, you were out.) I’m not sure if there was any scorekeeping, but the boys were all in. I wondered if this was a team-building exercise, or a throwing exercise, but it really didn’t matter.

Kids outside together. Playing until the street lights came on. Building memories. That’s what mattered.