Take me out to the ballgame

I recently had an unexpected bonding opportunity with one of the young men in the Coaching for Success program. My chance came courtesy of Dan, a friend who offered up some Braves tickets he had gotten from work and was unable to use.

With a pair of the tickets I took Simeon, a ninth-grader who is currently waiting on a mentoring match, to the ballpark. Simeon plays catcher on his high school baseball team and is an avid student of the game. This was not his first trip to Turner Field, but he was still wide-eyed at the experience.  With his mother’s blessing, he insisted on staying to the very end, when I snapped the attached photo of him.

Throughout the evening, Simeon was strikingly gracious. I was detained at a meeting and didn’t get to pick him up until the game was already a few innings old. He waved off my apologies, saying he was just happy for the chance to go.

It’s been a little while since I last visited a Major League ballpark, and as we passed booth after booth staffed by concessionaires and souvenir vendors on the way to our seats, I found myself wondering how my two young daughters would have reacted had they been there. Given half a chance, I suspect they would have overloaded with cotton candy, popcorn, foam tomahawks, and the like before ever laying eyes on the diamond. Not Simeon, though. He was there to see a game, and he quietly and confidently took the lead navigating to our section.

Like Simeon, I love a good ballgame. For my money, America’s pastime is the best among the major sports as a backdrop for meandering but meaningful conversation.  As the game moved along steadily, we talked our way easily through a number of topics—cherished memories at the ballpark, favorite players, the relative strengths of each team’s lineup, how to hit an off-speed pitch, the duties of a catcher who’s not starting, the progress Simeon’s making toward pulling his grades up, his knack for talking his way out of trouble, plans for the summer, and so on.

All in all, it was a wonderful night. The weather was perfect, the good guys won 3-2, and, with a little coaching from Simeon, I got the chance to perfect my tomahawk chop. Most importantly, a young man got a tangible reinforcement of a message we consistently work to get across—that he’s valuable, and there are people in his life who want the best for him.

I told Dan afterwards how much I appreciated his sharing those tickets. To him it was a simple and natural gesture, but for Simeon—and for me, too—it really meant a lot. Dan has a lot of responsibilities at work and at home. He may not have an hour every week to devote to mentoring a young person, but he made a valuable contribution nonetheless.