Going home to visit my family for the summer in a small, southern Georgia town is exactly what you’d expect: hot humid weather, the faint smell of cigarettes and far too many sand gnats.
While visiting my parents before leaving for the summer, I was obliged to attend my brothers’ youth league baseball games.
There are a few things about this all-American phenomenon that stood out to me.
The first thing you notice at these games is the yelling. There’s a lot of it: coaches yelling at the 10-year-olds to “Cover home!” or “Don’t run on a foul ball!”; tiny voices on the field yelling “fair,” while the other team yells “Foul!” Meanwhile, the teenage umpire who is here for a part time job shrugs her shoulders and tries to ignore them as best she can.
Parents, likewise, are yelling at their kids, saying things like “Good eye!” or in the case of one upset mother, “You should have tagged him! Why didn’t you tag him,” while her son yelled back in desperation, “There was no one on first!”
At one point during the game a dad leans over to whisper, “I’d love to see a birth certificate for that kid,” implying that his parents may have lied about his age to give their team an advantage. One mother sets up a camping chair in front of the bleachers, and shouts directions to her son. At one point during the game she gets frustrated and walks away for a couple minutes.
It’s clear that even though this is designed as a place for young children to have fun and gain some sporting experience, for some of these parents, it’s a bastion of competitive spirit to the point where some treat it more like a major league game than a fifty-minute scrimmage.
For every parent that gets a little too antsy over the score, there are three who clap and call out “Hey, that’s all right, yours’ll come,” when a kid strikes out even if it’s on the opposing team.
All in all, everyone is here to support a loved one, while simultaneously supporting all the players, creating a feeling of community. While I rest my feet on the cold, creaky metal bleacher in front of me, I can’t help but smile and cheer along with them. The kids are having fun, as are the younger brothers and sisters who are drawing with chalk and climbing on the fences. They are just as much a part of this as their sibling players. This isn’t just a baseball game, it is a gathering, a life event, full of tangible experiences. Seeing all of these people coming together to support people they love (even though it’s just their children) is something that makes me smile and part of what makes coming home so special.
