My grandson had his first ever T-ball baseball game.
It seems like not-so-long-ago I was sitting in the bleachers cheering on my son at his adolescent baseball games. A part of the cadre of parents that become friends for this season of time, warming the seats while as you get excited at your teenage son’s athletic forays. Jumping up and yelling until you are hoarse as the boy runs, then slides, into home base before the baseball can make it to the catcher’s mitt. Words of encouragement cheered to all the boys at their turn in the spotlight when the pressure mounts to connect that bat to the ball.
Yesterday … the baton has been passed to the next generation.
I am the doting grandma, heart swelling with pride. Still cheering on words of encouragement as I watch the child-of-my-child go up for his turn at bat. Still jumping up and yelling until I am hoarse as I watch him run as fast as his little legs can go.
My once yesterdays are now yesteryears. Nobody prepares you for this.