Covid brought a lot.  It brought loneliness, it brought fear, it brought isolation and it brought disparity.  It exposed truths, and unveiled injustices, inequities and insecurities.  It did so much and still is.  It showed true colors, and selfishness, and judgment and resentment.

It also shined a light on slowing down, eating as a family, hikes everyday, and staying up late.  Of course we all know the silver linings, we hang on them like a belay rope.  They keep us climbing forward, climbing up and moving on.

You know what else Covid brought?  It brought gratitude.  Deep, unrelenting gratitude.  Simple birthday parties when friends were allowed near, impulse buys in the checkout line, berry picking, convenience shopping, and my personal favorite: pickup baseball.

Last week, for the first time in 2020 I went to the baseball field with my boys.  Bags packed, bats found, gloves opened up and stretched out; They were ready.  I even pulled on my Red Sox tank top, despite their losses this weird season.  I am loyal if nothing else.  We didn’t know anyone who would be there, didn’t even know if this shadow of a rumor that there would be baseball at 4:30 at a given location was even true.  But of course we went.  We just had to see.

We pulled up and the sun was beaming out from hot, rainy clouds.  And kids were playing, their adults in masks, cautiously chatting from a distance.  Kids were scattered about avoiding dugouts and elbow high diving.  My boys dashed out without a second thought.

And they played. 

And I promised myself I would not embarrass them.  I didn’t know these other parents, they didn’t know me.  No, I told myself, I will not cry.  That is too much, and too bizarre and they will not understand.  But I did.  Just a little.  It was just so good.

The kids played about seven innings.  The teams were pretty evenly matched.  There were lots of great plays, and lots of goofy kid mistakes, and big hits and overthrows, and fumbles and slides, and strike outs.   There were no walks.  I loved that.  My god it was perfect.  I always knew how much watching my kids play meant to me, how much I loved seeing them just go for it.  I love how they are good sports and just want to have fun.  I love hearing them cheer each other on, and encourage each other, even kids they have never met before.

The game was tied in the last inning, and to say I was excited when Rowan stepped up to the plate is an understatement.  He got a base hit; he went 5 for 6 this game and I could tell he surprised himself.  Then two kids struck out. Then a boy hit a line drive over the shortstops head and got a double.  Rowan was on third and Miles was up now.  Miles was swinging hard, but the ball was wet and soggy and flying low.  He was swinging at anything.  Then after two strikes, he made contact and hit Rowan home for a walk off win.  

The kids all cleaned up the field, waved goodbye and headed home, simple as that.  My chest was filled with joy, and my eyes were sealed with smiles.  Of course we got pizza, and just went home and reveled in the glory of the greatest game on earth.