I'm Sorry, Daddy

As I was growing up, it was common for my dad and I to play catch in the yard. It depended on what time of year it was as to what kind of ball we tossed. In the summer, it was a baseball; in the fall it was a football. In fact, dad was one of my Little League baseball coaches and when I played some high school baseball, he came to as many games as he could. We played church softball together for several years, too. I remember as a teenager and young man, I laughed at him when he ran. "You run like an old man!" I'd say. Those words haunt me today. My dad died when he was only 55. He was still a young man when he died! How could I say such things when he was still in his 40s, for cryin' out loud?! Those words haunt me today because even when he was 50, he'd outrun me today. I'm not yet 50, and haven't been physically fit enough to play an honest game of softball in years. Since I can't physically play the game at a competitive level, I've resorted to umpiring. It gets me on a softball field in a competitive atmosphere, yet I'm not feeling pressured to perform athletic moves in order to stay on the field. The pressure to umpire is much, MUCH different! Yes, there are times when I wish I had a glove. I've been nicked and scraped by the ball and foul tips at home plate still make me nervous. Line drives in the field still cause my heart to pound a little harder when I have to move quickly to keep from getting hit. Remember, I have no glove, and I'm not playing the game because I'm not as athletic as I once was! The most recent night I worked on a softball field was certainly a test. I'm not sure if God was testing me, or allowing me to be tested; but it was a difficult night. In the first game of three that I umpired, I was calling balls and strikes. The night started out well enough; I actually had a couple of close calls at the plate and no one argued with me. But then ~~~ A play was about to happen at the plate. The ball came screaming in from the second baseman who was the cut-off man in shallow right center field. It was up the third base line a bit; right where I was standing. I saw the ball heading my way, so I moved to get out of the way. The ball changed direction ~ toward me. I moved again, and it seemed as though there was a laser beam connecting the ball to my head. It seemed to tail right towards me ~ again. By now, the only thing I could do was turn. I turned and the ball just grazed my left arm. That didn't hurt at all. As I turned, though, I lost all sense of balance, and I started going down. At this point, all time seemed to go in slow motion. I saw the chain link fence of the backstop creeping closer to me. I knew I was going down. My gaze shifted toward the dirt getting closer to me. Then, finally I landed. Thankfully, there was no seismic earthquake, but a man of my girth hitting the ground is no laughing matter. Players, to their credit, came over to check on me. They asked if I needed some time to shake the cobwebs loose. I told one of them, if I take that kind of time, we wouldn't get the game started back. Later, some of the players who were watching this game, waiting to start the next one, were kidding with me asking if I was alright. I told them, the reason I'm umpiring instead of playing today is because umpires are supposed to stay upright. I'm not sure if I'm fit to be an umpire anymore! Now, please understand, I've got some other physical ailments with some joints and junk. I've been the doctors this past week with some other pains. But the part of my body that hurts the most right now? Yep, the strawberry on my right knee! So, yes, it pains me to remember me making fun of my dad running so slowly. At this point, I just wish I could run!