Growing up, I was always active in youth sports—basketball, softball, karate… you name it, I tried it at least once. I wasn’t the most naturally gifted athlete, but when you’re one of the tallest girls in your grade, you automatically become the go-to center or forward on your basketball team. Some of my fondest summer memories are cheering from the dugout in the sticky Indiana heat while we were up to bat, or marching in our township’s youth baseball and softball parade, sometimes even in the snow. Those simple joys of childhood and community shaped my love for sports.
When I found out I was pregnant with my first child, I started imagining how fun it would be to share that love of sports with him or her if they showed interest. In 2012, I welcomed my beautiful son Austin into the world, and from the moment he could hold a ball, he was tossing it everywhere—sometimes for the dog, sometimes to another person, and sometimes, accidentally, at the TV.
By the time Austin turned four, he joined his first t-ball team. Watching him laugh and run across the field with his friends was pure joy. I loved seeing how every player, no matter their position, would sprint toward any ball in play because they all wanted to be part of the action. I still have his tiny navy blue t-ball jersey tucked away with all his other baseball jerseys (all but one proudly sporting the number 10).
As Austin grew, so did his talent and love for baseball. His confidence was something I admired, and during his coach-pitch seasons, he often backed it up with strong hits. But when he moved to machine pitch, timing became a challenge, and his confidence dipped. I reassured him that the most important thing was to try his best and to quit if he ever stopped having fun.
He persevered, though, and eventually turned the corner. After a few bruising encounters with 40 MPH pitches (I think the timing was finally drilled into him), he began hitting consistently again. That spring, he had a fantastic season, playing first base and pitcher every game. He even hit a few in-the-park home runs and celebrated with his own version of his Atlanta Braves heroes’ signature “mix-it-up” style. Perhaps his dark green Clovers jersey brought him a bit of extra luck.
Knowing how he had struggled the previous season, our family was overjoyed when he was invited to join the league all-star team. When he saw the email confirming his selection, his beaming smile spoke volumes—he knew his hard work had paid off. I was excited too, though slightly stressed about balancing summer basketball and baseball, but we made it work.
That excitement, however, quickly turned to a little anxiety for me. The first all-star scrimmage was the first time Austin had been benched all season. Inning by inning, I watched his smile fade and saw the questions in his eyes. I wanted to run over and comfort him, but I stayed back, watching him navigate the moment on his own. He sat defensively for six of the nine innings, though he did bat when it was his turn. I knew we were in for a challenging season, but then something incredible happened.
He encouraged his teammates from the dugout: “Good job out there!” Later at batting practice, he cheered on others: “Man, you destroyed that ball!” Our family has a few simple sports rules—always give full effort, be a good teammate and a good sport, and stop playing when it’s no longer fun. A few days after the scrimmage, while I was making dinner, he shared his feelings about the game. Despite being sad about not playing, he told me, “I’m happy to be playing baseball and glad I don’t have to wait until fall to play again.” He wanted to contribute in any way he could, and I couldn’t have been prouder.
Hoping to inspire him further, I reached out to Atlanta Braves player Pablo Sandoval via Instagram. I asked if he could offer advice for a young bench player, and to our surprise, he responded with a voice message for Austin. Pablo encouraged him to trust himself, have confidence, never give up on his dreams, and simply be himself. Austin couldn’t believe a professional athlete took the time to send him a message, and just like that, Pablo Sandoval became a lifelong role model for our family.
Though the all-star season lasted only three games, Austin’s positive attitude never wavered. He still had moments on the bench, but he soaked in every experience: playing at a professional-level sports complex, being announced for the national anthem, and getting his own turn at bat under the spotlight. He continued to enjoy the game, and I couldn’t resist snapping adorable photos of him in his red, white, and blue all-star jersey—a proud mama moment, for sure.
On the car ride home after the elimination game, Austin sat quietly in the backseat, munching on his lunch and sipping Gatorade. As I reflected, I realized the lesson wasn’t just for him—it was for me. Often, we want to shield our kids from disappointment, but sometimes the most profound growth comes when we step back and let them navigate their own emotions. At just eight years old, Austin taught me patience, resilience, and grace.
Just recently, Austin didn’t make the travel team he tried out for. My heart sank more than his did, yet within minutes, he was outside, bat in hand, practicing his stance. He turned disappointment into motivation, showing me yet again how capable and resilient he is.
Yes, he still has moments of typical eight-year-old antics—loud Nerf gun battles, waking his brother from naps—but so often he surprises me with his thoughtfulness, maturity, and kindness. His baby brother Aiden has a wonderful influence on him, too, and soon, Austin will be able to return the favor.
I can’t take all the credit for his attitude—it truly takes a village. From kids’ church lessons about character and role models in Jesus, to the kind guidance of his teachers who emphasize leaving hearts better than we found them, the people around him help shape the remarkable boy he is becoming. And sometimes, he shapes us right back.
As a parent, our instinct is to protect, but this baseball journey has reminded me to step back, watch, and let him grow. I still transform into Mama Bear when needed, but now I pause a moment, let him face the challenge, and cheer from the sidelines. Watching him celebrate his teammates, encourage others, and rise to the occasion—bench or not—reminds me that he’s learning, growing, and thriving in ways even I can’t predict. He’s got this, and I’ll always be right here to cheer him on.
