When I was 12, I wanted to try out for the little world series team. There was a tryout in our home town because a regional tournament was to be played at Phil Welch stadium which was an old minor league stadium where I lived. It was beautiful. Dugouts like the pros, big stands…
At one of the tryout games we were playing we were down by 1 run and there was a guy on second and third with one out. Bottom of the ninth inning. The coaches for the little world series team were there. The guy in front of me struck out, so it was up to me.
I was strolling to the plate and our coach’s wife yelled so that the whole stands could hear…”pack it up guys, Chuck’s coming up, game’s over!”. I smiled, my teammates laughed.
Then…two straight strikes and everyone was quiet. But not my coach’s wife. She yelled, “Way to get their hopes up Chuck!”
Next pitch I hit to the wall and both runs scored and we won. I still have the baseball that all the guys signed.
Why do I tell that story? Really…just one reason. Because I want to try and remember what it was like to be 12. I remember my routine when I would go to the ball park. How I would tie my cleats together and swing them over my shoulder as I rode my bike. How I would roll my socks just so to make it look right. When I got a new baseball glove, I remember how I would oil it up and put a baseball in it and wrap rubber bands around it so it would form just the right way. (I still have that baseball glove)
As a 12 year old I had to grow up fast. Protect myself. Protect my parents. Hide secrets and be an adult. And so now that I’m trying to talk to my 12 year old self and tell him I can do the protecting now, he doesn’t know what role to play.
And so…it’s time to try and remember what it’s like when I was 12 as best I can.
Next step…recount the details of the things that happened. Get rid of the secrets. Then 12 year old Brint can maybe be free. But when I do…I need to be careful when and who because I will need the brace. It’s like a surgery. Makes me nervous. But I’m ready to get it out of my head. Too much shame.
My whole life I wanted to be the one coming up in the bottom of the 9th with two out. I wanted the ball for the last shot. I showed up. I believe showing up is the best thing. Not saying anything, just showing up when people are struggling. Just be present….show up.
It’s time I show up for myself.
Brint's Blog 