moments ♡

swing ♡

If that little girl had asked once, she had asked ten times a day every day to play tee ball. Her cousin did it, so she naturally had to do the same.

Her persistence, of course, paid off. Her daddy took her to the friendly local sporting goods store and bought her little workout clothes and tiny little cleats and a shiny pink bat and a little batting helmet. They even got a tee and a few balls for her to practice with in the backyard.

It was a pretty afternoon when he took her outside and set the ball on the tee. His sweet girl smiled up at him with his eyes. “Ready, Sprout?”

She nodded, her curly ponytail bouncing adorably where it poked out beneath her helmet. “Yes, Papa.” He knelt behind her, helping her to get the best possible grip on the bat. The second he let go, she lost her grip. “No, Sweetie, hold it like I helped you do.”

She repositioned her grip and quickly swung, missing the ball on the tee completely. She giggled, and her daddy did, too. “Oopsie daisy!” she giggled. “Sorry, Daddy!”

He smiled down at her. “It’s okay! Let’s try again.” He set the ball back on the tee and helped her get her grip right again.

She swung. She missed again. “Oopsy doodle!”

He sighed, but he still chuckled. “It’s okay! It’s okay to mess up as long as you keep trying.”

“Keep trying,” she repeated, setting the ball back on the tee. She poked her tongue from the corner of her mouth adorably and gripped her bat. She swung and hit the ball, but then it fell miserably to the ground instead of flying epicly to the fence.

Her little brows furrowed together. “I didn’t do good.”

Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled his little one into his arms. “You did so good. You kept trying.”

She was crying. “I wanted to do good.”

“You have to keep trying, Sweetie. You have to practice. That’s what helps you to hit it over the fence!”

“Over the fence?! I don’t want Fido to get my ball. He’ll eat it.” He chuckled at the prospect of their neighbor’s chihuahua eating a tee ball.

“Well, then you can hit it to the fence.”

She nodded. “Ok, Papa.”

So she kept swinging, and try as she might, the ball never reached the fence. The ball never even got halfway to the fence. It barely got a foot from the tee. His sweet girl was getting more and more frustrated and more and more determined, but he could see her getting frantic as she moved faster each time to grab the ball and put it back in its place.

When she set it in its place the last time, he saw a tear fall from her eye, and he gently took the bat from her hand and pulled her into his arms as she cried hot, frustrated tears. “I can’t do it,” she sobbed. “I can’t hit it. I can’t, Papa.”

His heart broke. It shattered. “You can do it, Sprout.”

“But I can’t! I can’t!” She was so little, but she was already capable of feeling so much. She was so much like her papa.

He scooped her into his arms and stood, carrying her into the house. He set her down at the table and whipped up two tall glasses of chocolate milk and a couple of peanut butter sandwiches with the crusts cut off. She stared dejectedly at her snack as Mama joined them in the kitchen.

“You okay, Sprout?” her mama asked.

The little one shook her head. “I can’t hit very good.”

“We’ll try again tomorrow if you still want to, Kiddo,” her papa reassured her. “But tonight, you’re going to have a snack and take a bath and then we’ll watch a movie.”

Maybe she’d succeed tomorrow. Maybe she’d knock one out of the park one day. Maybe she’d play ball in high school and get a free ride to college.

Or maybe it wouldn’t be her thing after all, and they would still love her.