Little League Mom

Cal walked through the sweltering night air filled with bugs falling down from the huge lights which hung over the ball fields. It had been a long afternoon, taking pictures of the tiny ballplayers and getting their parents' requests for picture packages – dealing with the mothers about pictures was almost as bad as coaching the young players and dealing with their over-competitive fathers.

He decided to catch the last couple of innings of the 8- to 10-year-old game. This was his favorite age, because they were still young enough to coach, yet old enough to put into practice what they were learning.

Cal wandered past the nearly full stands and out toward the right-field foul line, leaning on the waist-high fence as he watched the action. He liked right field, because that is where he had gotten his start the first two years of his youth baseball career. Right field was where the coaches tried to hide their worst players when they had to substitute in the late innings, fulfilling the obligation of playing everybody in every game. His father had not known the game and Cal had to learn the hard way – by experience and lots of practice on the sand lots.

Those first two years he had made a lot of mistakes and had taken a lot of abuse, mostly from adults, but sometimes from other youth. He had finally learned how to play the game, however, and was all-district in high school two years in a row before graduating.

Now, as he watched the home team take the field for the top of the sixth inning, he watched the young right-fielder trot out to a spot, turn around to look at his coach, and then back up several yards before stopping. The child watched the game in front of him intently, but Cal's experienced eye told him the child was totally unsure of himself on the field.

With two outs and two runners on base, an opposing batter lifted a soft fly to right which should have easily been caught. The youngster overran the ball, however, allowing it to roll almost to the fence – three runs scored erasing the home team's two-run lead and putting the visitors ahead by one. An out later Cal heard the catcalls from an adult in the stands and saw the child hang his head as he trotted in to take his place on the end of the dugout bench. None of the other players stopped to talk to him, though the coach came over and spoke to him in what seemed like an encouraging manner for a minute or two.

Duncan, for that was the name on the youngster's uniform, came to bat in that inning with a runner on and two outs and struck out swinging on three outside pitches. Poor kid, thought Cal, he evidently did not have anyone to teach him the game. He would learn, if he kept at it, but Cal doubted that he would as he watched the young man trudge back out to right field.

The child glanced up at him guardedly as he moved into place for the left-hand hitter who was due to hit first, and Cal gave him a friendly smile.

"If it comes on the ground, keep your glove all the way down until you feel the ball hit," Cal instructed in a voice that could only be heard by him and the boy. The young man threw him another glance and then nodded. "Make up your mind where you are going to throw it once you catch it," Cal added. "That way you don't have to stop and think about it." Another nod, though this time the boy kept his eye on the batter.

Two batters later a ground ball was hit in the hole between first and second and the youngster scooted toward the ball, stopping at the last second and practically burying the glove in the dirt. The ball hit the glove and bounced back toward the diamond, allowing Duncan to pick it up and throw the ball in a wide arc toward second base, holding the runner to a single.

"Attaboy," Cal called out softly, "couldn't have done better myself." He was rewarded by a shy smile before the child turned his attention back to the diamond. After the third out, Duncan turned slightly and waved at the older man before scampering back to the dugout, showing more enthusiasm than he had a few minutes earlier.

The home team did not score in the last inning and lost 12-11 due to Duncan's three-run error. Cal shrugged and walked toward the snack bar to see if there might still be some food so he wouldn't have to drive all the way home on an empty stomach.

The lady at the snack bar – who Cal had flirted with a couple of times until he discovered she was married – didn't have any hamburgers or hotdogs left, but dished out a plate of French fries for him. He slid a dollar across the counter and picked up an almost full bottle of ketchup, just as he heard a disturbance and turned to see its cause.

A large man was speaking loudly and gesturing in the face of a very determined young woman, who stood defensively clutching the shoulder of her young son – Duncan. On the boy's other side stood a younger version of the mother, maybe 12 or 13 years of age, whose determined face echoed her mother's love and concern for the lad. Standing slightly behind the younger woman was a child of about five or six, with large frightened eyes that flew from face to face with each word.

"If there isn't anyone that can teach him the game then you should think of the other players and take him off the team," the red-faced man said loudly. "You are not helping him by making him the laughingstock of all his friends. Hell, he can't even walk across the outfield without tripping on a blade of grass!" Duncan refused to lower his head, but his face showed how uncomfortable he was with the situation.

Cal picked up the ketchup bottle and looked at it speculatively as he heard the attractive young mother answer in a measured voice, low enough that Cal could not hear the words; but he did hear the warning tone in her voice indicating she was not going to allow her boy to be abused by this man any longer. Cal dumped the entire bottle of ketchup on the little pile of fries and, catching the look of consternation on the snack bar lady's face, pushed another dollar across the counter.

"That's for the ketchup, will you take care of this for me for a minute or two?" he said quietly, handing his expensive camera to the woman, then turned toward the argument, but not before the lady saw a look in his eyes that brought a slight frown to her face.

Cal walked across the beaten earth taking in the entire scene. The team's coach was trying to act busy collecting bats and balls, the other players and their parents were standing slightly apart from the man, his family of five, and Duncan's mother and family. Some of the men looked embarrassed about the situation, but no one seemed willing to step in and stop the attempt at intimidation.

"You better do something before the next game, because . . ." the man never got to finish his threat because at just that time Cal pretended to stumble and pitched the plate of ketchup and fries right into the larger man's chest, splattering ketchup over his expensive polo shirt, golf shorts and hairy legs.

Time suddenly stood still at Little League Diamond #9, as everybody froze, mouths half opened in astonishment.

"Well, now, pardon me for that, I guess I tripped over a blade of grass," Cal said icily. "Strong grass you all got around here."

The two men stood face-to-face – for Cal had moved between the mother and her children and their verbal assailant. Cal, 45, stood at 5'10" and 155 pounds, while the other man, easily ten years younger, was clearly over 6 feet tall and approaching 200 pounds, with the slightly oversized paunch and muscular legs of a regular weekend golfer.

Cal knew that the next words would come from the other man, because he had learned at an early age that silence is a tool that can be used to good advantage in most situations. He stood casually, both hands resting lightly on his hips, a hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes never leaving those of the other man. Few men are able to hide their intentions from their eyes in a tense situation, and Cal wanted as much advance warning as possible when dealing with someone so much larger than himself.

"You just ruined a good set of clothes, asshole," the larger man hissed through clenched teeth, breaking the half minute of silence. His face had turned from beet-red to a ghostly white, and his eyes spoke volumes to Cal. They were filled with indignation . . . mixed with indecision.

"Well, I'll just let you keep the fries to go with your ketchup," Cal said evenly, his eyes still locked on those of the other man, the smile still whispering across his lips. "I had already lost my appetite."

"This is none of your business, unless you have a child on this team," the other man challenged.

"To the contrary, Duncan is a friend of mine, and where I come from, people are willing to fight to the death for their friends," Cal replied, allowing his eyelids to droop slightly, leaving him with the half-hooded expression of a snake ready to strike. The ploy worked; he saw a glimpse of fear join the other emotions in the man's eyes.

To those witnessing the confrontation it seemed like ten minutes before the larger man spun athletically on his heel, pushed his wife and children toward the parking lot and marched stiffly away. Really the confrontation lasted just a little more than a minute.

As the other man walked away, Cal turned briefly to the young mother and her wide-eyed children.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, thank you," she said with a nod. Before she was able to say anything else, Cal had turned to walk slowly back to the snack bar. The smiling woman behind the counter already had his camera ready, and was dishing up another plate of fries. He nodded his thanks and reached for another dollar.

"You already paid for these," she said with a wide grin. "The ketchup was on the house. I'm sorry we don't have any more though, until tomorrow." Cal smiled, poured salt on his fries and turned back to the crowd, which was quickly dispensing, but not before several people stepped to the young mother and her son to speak words of encouragement. As Cal approached, she turned to speak to the team coach.

" . . . I can't promise anything," Cal heard her say as he came within earshot. "But maybe some of the older boys in the neighborhood can help Duncan understand the game better." The coach nodded, flashed an interested glance at Cal, and walked away.

Duncan stepped forward past his mother and reached out a hand, which Cal accepted, shaking it firmly and feeling the firm response. Someone had taught this youngster something about being a man – he guessed it was the beautiful, shapely young mother who stood beside him.

"Thank you, sir, for helping us out," Duncan said, his voice quavering slightly.

"If we're going to be friends, you gotta call me Cal," the older man replied.

The boy shot a glance at his mother, discerned her slight nod, and smiled. "Thank you, Cal, for helping out here, and for helping me in the field." The mother looked from her son to the man, a question in her eyes.

"He . . . Cal . . . gave me some advice out there, that is how I caught the grounder in the last inning," Duncan said, smiling at his mother's surprise.

"So, you know something about this game?" she asked, and for the first time Cal noticed a very slight accent. He nodded.

"I don't suppose . . ." she started and then looked at Cal again carefully. He could almost hear her thoughts, 'Is this just someone else who wants to get in my pants and is trying to use my son to do so?' He smiled widely, then, openly, as if caught in the act.

"I would love to work with Duncan some," he said lightly, "especially if it meant getting to spend time with three beautiful women." He saw an instant smile on the older daughter's face and a grin on the little girl's face, but the mother just continued to look levelly at him.

"I'm hungry enough to eat a horse," he said, breaking the silence, "so, why don't you let me take you all over to Lombari's for some Italian food and we could discuss how I could help Duncan without compromising your need to protect your children."

The three children looked quickly to their mother, saying nothing, but waiting with bated breath for her reply. She glanced at them and then at Cal's friendly smile.

"I guess I'm outnumbered," she said smiling back. "We know where it is, we'll be there in about 10 minutes, okay?" Cal smiled and nodded, waved at the children and walked across the park toward his pickup. Just before he moved out of hearing he heard the little one speak in a sweet little-girl voice.

"Do you think he really eats horses?" Cal heard the loving laughter shared by the family and was jealous of their closeness, and hopeful he might become part of it.

Over dinner he learned that Alice, 34, was originally from Canada, had married an American lumberjack, moved to the Ozarks with him, and then lost his love to a waitress in Minnesota during a six-month logging gig he taken shortly after their last child was born. Alice worked six days a week so she could get off early each day to be with the children when school was out. Trish 13, served as a surrogate mother on Saturday's and they stayed inside doing homework and cleaning the house until their mother got home. Cindy, 5, the little one, was astonishingly precocious, with a mind that never stopped. Duncan, 8, was the shy one, like his mother, while Trish had the outgoing personality of her father.

Duncan had signed up for little league at school at another child's encouragement, but had not been able to pick up the game very fast since the coach, who worked for the loud-mouthed banker who had confronted them that evening, spent most of his efforts working with the older boys on the team. Brad Stillett, the banker, had paid for all the uniforms, the equipment and the weekly refreshments. His son was the first baseman for the team and one of the best players. They were already talking college scholarship for the 10-year-old.

Alice and the children had a tradition of taking turns deciding what they would do together each Sunday, the mother's only day off from her job as hostess at an upscale restaurant in town. The following Sunday was Trish's turn, and she suggested they have a picnic at the park and invite Cal to work with Duncan on his baseball skills. The girls could wear their swimsuits and work on their tans while the men played ball. Alice and Cal agreed to the idea and they decided to meet back at the little league park by the back practice diamond at 10 o'clock the next Sunday.

Cal arrived at the park early to make sure there would be no one practicing on the out-of-the-way diamond. He did not want a lot of attention as he took the boy through the basics – nor did he want anyone scaring away the boy's mother if she actually did show up in a swimsuit.

He saw their minivan cruise slowly through the parking lot a few minutes before ten, stopping a short distance from the practice-field backstop. As he approached, the family was unloading the van. He helped them carry the cooler and other supplies to a spot in left field where the women spread out two old ragged quilts.

Cindy was already running around in a pink two-piece suit with angels on it. Alice was dressed in a beige tank-top and khaki shorts, and Trish wore a spaghetti-strap sundress which showed the straps of her swimsuit tied around her neck.

"Can I play on the playground, just a little while?" Cindy begged her mother, who smiled and kissed the child.

"Trish, I want you and Duncan to take your sister to the playground for a while before we begin the baseball, okay?" The children nodded agreeably and each grabbed a hand, skipping the child across the parking lot to the playground.

"Can we talk?" Alice asked pleasantly as she seated herself on the quilts. Cal nodded, grunting slightly as he lowered himself carefully to the ground. His body just was not responding like it once had. He looked at the attractive young woman and allowed himself just a thought of what it would be like to take her to bed. Maybe his body would be creaky there, also. After all, it had been more than a year since the last time he had made love to a woman. No problem, though, it would probably be that long before this one would give him a chance anyway.

"I want to talk to you about my girls," Alice said, looking into his eyes so he would know the seriousness of the conversation, and watching for any sign of improper thoughts. "They have not had a man around for a long time and they need some male attention. I am trusting you with them today, and hope you are the type of person I think you are." She stopped then, watching for a reaction. Cal just looked at her, waiting for what she might say next, deciding no reply was better than the wrong one.

"The little one just needs a man to pick her up, hold her in his lap every now and then, and let her know that she is valuable to him. Kisses and hugs are acceptable but you don't have to if it embarrasses you. Trish is different, however. She is becoming a woman and desperately needs a member of the opposite sex who she admires to recognize that. I can't tell you exactly what to say, or do, but I can tell you she does not want – or need -- sexual contact or suggestion . . . she already gets enough of that from the little boys in her school. What she needs is a real man she can trust to affirm her womanhood and reaffirm her sense of value to members of the opposite sex." The woman stopped then, and Cal realized as he watched her that she was very nervous about turning her girls over to a stranger for male affection.

"Alice, I raised two girls and know what you are saying," he said quietly, looking her squarely in the eye. "I will treat your young ladies with the utmost respect and will be a gentleman in every sense of the word . . . with both them and you." They looked at each other quietly for a minute or two before the mother looked away toward her children. She then rose and waited as he slowly got to his feet.

"I take you at your word, Cal, but know that I have done so before and been greatly disappointed . . . a couple of times. Please don't break our hearts." Instinctively he reached out, taking both of her hands in his own.

"I won't," he said simply, smiling at her for the first time since they had begun to talk. She hesitated, and then smiled in return. He let go of her hands and they walked toward the playground.

"Why don't you spend a couple of minutes with Cindy and then I will let the three of you go play ball? I think Trish wants to go with you big kids." He nodded and caught the running child as she streaked across the woodchips covering the playground, tossing her into the air and catching her into a hug.

"Just where do you think you are going at such a high rate of speed?" he asked teasingly. "Don't you know there is a speed limit around here?"

"You mean like the one Mama broke and got a ticket for?" the child asked, laughter bursting from her mouth and eyes at the same time. Cal looked at Alice and she gave an exaggerated shrug.

"Busted," she said, then turned to your youngest child. "But, Little Lady, you don't have to tell Cal everything you know!"

"Hey, I'm starting to like this conversation," Cal laughed. "Come on, Girl, let's go try out the swings and you can tell me some more about your Mama." The man and child walked off to the swing sets hand-in-hand, the child chattering like they had been close friends all their lives. Alice sat on a bench by the monkey bars as her two older children joined her, getting who-knows-what motherly advice she had to share.

A few minutes later Cal returned with Cindy perched on his shoulders. Occasionally he would grab a foot hanging down across his chest and tickle it, eliciting a peal of laughter and a quick pull on his hair from the vivacious little redhead. Picking her off his shoulders and swinging her into his arms, Cal kissed the child on the cheek and pretended to throw her to her mother. She squealed with delight and clasped her tiny arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. After a huge hug, she released and he set her down on her mother's lap.