He held up a mirror and said, “Dr. Heal thyself.”
I didn’t even imagine it, not until after the fact.
But he said something to that effect.
Which is good and bad.
It’s good, because it means I was giving good advice.
Bad because it was advice I needed given to me.
And I wasn’t listening.
Not at first.
There are ten other sets of parents at the baseball practices.
Last night, we were warned beforehand that it would be a three hour practice.
Not normal, but we needed to work on hitting, and then had a scrimmage with another team.
A partial scrimmage. They wanted to work on their at bat’s.
And we got to run through our pitchers and do defensive field work.
Five kids from an 11/12 year old team came to the park to hit off our pitchers and run the bases.
Their kids were a head taller than ours.
I thought it was a good idea, even if the boys got a little tired after the second hour.
Which means we need to work on endurance, something I’ve whispered in the coaches ear more than once.
Less Fortnite, more running.
At least until I can figure out how to teach grit.
During practice, the parents talk.
Some come, some go, some split duties with one or the other coming to watch.
And we talk.
I have good friends in that group, a core of about three or four that I consider really good friends.
The kind of guys you can get a beer with.
I could get a beer with their wives, but I have warned them that I’m a lover drunk, so it’s wise to keep distance and talk from the other side of the bleachers.
One of the dads is a bit entrepreneurial, so we like delving into it every now and then.
He said he had been working on Facebook ads a little while, and so have I, so we picked brains.
He told me he had about 50k followers for an apparel company he’s partnered on that sells digi camo clothes to the West Coast.