The ball looked like a routine grounder to shortstop as it shot
through the grass, but when it hit the dirt part of the infield, it
kicked up and knocked the shortstop right in the face.
The ball looked like a routine grounder to shortstop as it shot through the grass, but when it hit the dirt part of the infield, it kicked up and knocked the shortstop right in the face.
He stumbled over to the ball as the third baseman retrieved it and the umpire called play to a halt. Then, the shortstop fell to one knee and started to wail.
Coaching youth sports, I’ve dealt with a number of injuries to my players: a batter getting beaned in the ribs or taking a pitch off the helmet, a basketball player turning his ankle or colliding with another player and landing in a heap on the court. None of these are pleasant, but most of them end up being minor injuries that don’t require the player to leave the game. They fight off the sniffles in front of the crowd, which then applauds their courage, and play continues.
Back to the injured shortstop: I knew it wasn’t a minor injury because it takes a lot to make this kid cry. The 10 seconds it took me to run to him seemed like an eternity, as I wondered whether he had broken his nose or had his front teeth knocked out.
When I got there, the shortstop, my 10-year-old son, lifted his face toward the sound of my voice to show me that he took a shot square in the right eye. It had puffed up, turned purple, and closed immediately, and I did my best to remain calm as he and I struggled with what just happened.
The coach in me was angry that I was losing a key player in a key playoff game, and I quickly had to figure out who would take his place. The dad in me wanted to pick him up and carry him off the field, then sit with him as he recovered – the game be damned.
As I consulted with the coaches on the field, I kept stealing glances back at the dugout, where he was sitting with a bag of ice over his eye, with his mom comforting him. This is when it’s tough to be a coach and a dad at the same time, because one of those responsibilities has to suffer.
But the game must go on, so we kept playing and won the game, as my injured son drew gasps from his teammates on the bench every time he moved the ice away from his face, half of which was now swollen and discolored. He insisted on staying in the dugout until the game ended. He is much braver than I am.
After the game, the injury became a badge of courage as the ice dulled the pain. I think he enjoyed the gasps he got from parents and kids as he showed them his wound. It was then that I recalled how our perspective on painful events changes as we age.
Kids can be overly dramatic when they suffer a scraped knee, but they love to peel back the Band-Aid and show their friends the oozing scratch or massive scab. Later, they like to point out the scar that remains as a testament to their bravery.
After hours of icing back home that night, my son declared that he was going to play the next day, because the swelling had subsided enough for him to see out of his right eye. “No way,” I said. “If you can’t see, you can’t play.”
But, sure enough, by the next morning, the eye had reopened, he had no blurriness, and he thought it was the coolest thing to have a massive black eye and scratch.
Everyone who saw the injury cringed, and my son loved it. “I look scary,” he declared with pride. Adults with similar injuries would be embarrassed to show their faces, but to a kid, an injury like this is like getting to wear a frightening Halloween mask for a few days.
Defying the odds, he played the next game and we won. He was upset that he didn’t get to pitch in that one, as I’m sure he believed his temporary disfigurement would work to his advantage.
It has been five days since the incident, and my son still enjoys showing his wound to his friends. He’s hoping it’ll leave a scar, but I reminded him that scars are forever, so we’re going to take care to make sure it doesn’t leave a mark.
What will leave a mark is the fear I felt seeing my youngest son crumple to the ground with an injury, then the pride I felt as he insisted on returning to the field the next day. I wouldn’t have forced him to do so, and I surely would have skipped a game or three if that had happened to me.
Kids make their parents proud when they get a hit or strike out an opponent, but having my son jump right back onto the field a day after a frightening injury was one of the prouder moments of my life – because he insisted upon it. I was scared for him and others may have been scared of him, but he conquered his own fears, and that’s the victory.
