Humility in the Bag

There are many qualities I hope my 16-year-old son James develops as he moves toward adulthood. I hope he speaks up for what is right, and is a good member of the community. I hope he is a go-getter who confidently pursues opportunities. And I hope he has a life full of faith and love.

There is one more quality that seems almost old-fashioned in this fast-paced “look-at-me” world: I hope James is humble.

It is a characteristic my husband and I value, so we try to parent that way. Most suburban teens today have almost unlimited opportunities. They have tutors to help them learn when they struggle, personal sports coaches to improve their batting averages, work-out programs that cater to their individual conditioning goals.

Parents shuttle kids to games, practices and performances, giving up their own precious weekends, sometimes without a single “thank you” from their children. This sets up an “all about me” world for youngsters, who, amazingly, can’t do much without their parents.

Parents shuttle kids to games, practices and performances, giving up their own precious weekends, sometimes without a single “thank you” from their children.

Every once in a while, you get a glimpse of the person your child is becoming, and the chance to see if your lessons have, at some level, sunk in.

I got such a chance last week, at a baseball clinic.

This clinic, at Tufts University in Medford, Massachusetts, allows high school players to show their stuff to college coaches. We offered to sign James up, and he jumped at the opportunity.

James and I pulled into the parking lot at Tufts, and since we were early, we listened to music and chatted. Boys soon started to clamber from their air-conditioned SUVs, and one thing was immediately apparent — these boys were serious about baseball.

They had killer gear.

All of them wore expensive sweat-resistant shirts, the latest in Nike performance cleats, and carried bat bags that were pretty darn cool — and expensive. These bags look like a backpack, with a nylon sleeve on each side for a bat.

My heart lurched as I glanced in the back seat. James’ ripped and dusty old bat bag sat on the floor behind us, obviously well-used and worn out. He only owns one bat. He loves that bat.

James only owns one bat. He loves that bat.

As the parade of boys with their bat bags streamed by us, he reached in back for his old ratty bat bag, grabbing it firmly. Then he smiled at me.

“Looks like I am a little behind the times,” he said simply. He nodded at the other boys lining up, wearing their fancy bags.

“See ya, Mom. Oh, and thanks for letting me do this. I appreciate it.” With that, he closed the door and went to join the others.

My eyes filled with tears as I saw that old bat bag slung over his shoulder as he jogged to the college field. But what I saw was not an old bat bag, but a symbol of a humble person who is all too quickly growing into a man.

Handing everything to your kids is not preparing them for the future. Teaching them to make do with what they have, and humbly appreciating it, is far better preparation. James is our last kid, so we know this from experience. It’s important.

In the game of parenting, you could even say it’s a home run.