YOUR BIGGEST FAN

A good friend of mine coaches 16U fast-pitch softball. She asked me to write a letter to my sixteen-year-old self in hopes to give some inspiration to the players as they move forward into a new realm of life. A rite of passage, if you will.

To be fair and honest, the first fifteen plus drafts started with something to the effect of, “You stupid %#%$ dumb &^$&%. What the %*$%& were you thinking?” And so on and so forth.

Ultimately, I realized the letter my friend requested was not intended to change my teen years, or to make me feel bad about me, but to hopefully, give a realistic insight of the anxiety of change for a new generation.

I’ve decided to share my letter with you today.

***

It’s been 26 years since I’ve thought of you. And man, do I miss being sixteen. So will you. So much has happened. Some good… Some not…

If I’m correct, you’re coming close to what you think is the last tournament of the season. Oh, kiddo, I know damn well you’re only going to half-listen to what I’m about to tell you.

I know, because I’m you.

Try to store in your memory banks the smell of oiled leather. Do it. Put your face in your glove. That’s the smell of hard work, of bruised fingers. It’s gets hot out there; so when you’re legs turn to jelly and you’re panting for breath, make sure you run out first base. Push yourself to steal second. You’ll rest tomorrow.

When you walk or drive by an empty ball field, make sure to remember the crunch of cleats grinding into gravel and occasionally cement when you think your dad isn’t looking. That is, until you hear him sternly say from behind the bleachers, “Keep those cleats on the field where they belong.” Remember how you never did that again?

This might be that weekend when you single-handedly lost a game. You were so determined to catch that ball in the outfield. No hop. No skip. Just a flat out, dive out, land on your belly, amazing catch. How many balls got passed you while learning how to dive? How many extra runs scored? Seven, I think. Of course, by the fifth attempt, you snatched that flying ball in mid air. Ball in your glove and grass in your waist band when you landed. Remember the cheers? Not so mad now, are you Janet! We won that tournament from the loser bracket. Oh, wait, that might be a different weekend.

Your friends might be reading this over your shoulder, so I feel it’s important to fill them in on this secret too. The game never ends. It’s engrained in every asset of your persona. You don’t know this yet, but you’re going to lose. That’s right. This letter isn’t a mushy, I think you’re awesome, and everything is wonderful, kind of letter. In fact, this might be the most realistic letter you get until you’re twenty. Boy, did that one suck.

Look around you. You have, if I recall, fifteen of your closest friends. You might not always get along. But those ladies huddling around you right now, snooping over your shoulder, are your roots. Those ladies will battle for you, with you. When the shortstop throws too far up the line and the first-base person has to slap a tag on the runner, what do you think happens? That batter gets pissy for an over exaggerated tag, benches clear, and even Janet comes in from right field to battle. Never a dull moment.

You don’t know this yet, but recently things got really tough. I won’t go into it, but when life handed you a shitbasket, you thought back to these last few games. More importantly, you thought about being an athlete and how it affected your later years. Sometimes you do win, and here’s how…that refusal to give up, that camaraderie of teammates staying weekends at a time together. It shapes you.

I won’t spill the beans on the who’s who, but some of your teammates are going to further their softball career in college. There, they will meet and befriend a new set of fifteen. Some of your teammates will move onto college without softball and learn with fifteen other people in their study groups. Regardless of where each of you head in life, you will meet at least fifteen people whom you’ll need to have to work with. Make it happen.

What’s my point? Well, what you and your teammates do, weekday practices, weekend games, strawberried knees and thighs, sore shoulders, and heat exhaustion,—it’s making you stronger. It’s making you a better human. It’s making you marketable. I said you’ll lose earlier…Yes. But winning comes far more often and is so much sweeter because you learned how to play a game…the best game in the world.

One last thing and maybe the most important advice I can give you and all your friends reading over your shoulder…Wear sunscreen! Nobody needs melanoma.

Your biggest fan,

Me