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My nephews visited the farm every summer. Once adolescence set in, though, so did relentless competition and irritated insults.
So I announced a home run derby. Hit a baseball into the pond and win an iTunes gift card. They hit buckets of balls.
Sometimes life lessons arrive unexpectedly, and it’s important to notice and honor them.
The quietest nephew ran in one night after everyone else had given up. “Aunt Amy – I got one in the pond!”
“Great!” I said. “Let’s go find it!” But he demurred.
Later, with everyone in bed, I heard a tiny knock. “Aunt Amy, are you awake?” It was the quiet nephew.
“I didn’t hit the ball in the pond,” he said. “I don’t know why I lied.”
“Oh, honey, I knew it when you said you didn’t want to go find it,” I said. “But I wanted you to know what it’s like to have a lie roll around in your head, and how good it is to tell the truth. Do you feel better?”
“Then you’ve won the home run derby! You didn’t hit it into the pond, but you told a hard truth,” I said, “and that’s more important.”
“I love you, Aunt Amy.”
“I love you too. Take out the garbage before you go to bed,” I said.
My nephews visited the farm every summer, a respite for my sisters and a chance to show three city boys the joys of country living. Once adolescence got them in its grip, the tenor of the visits changed. Relentless competition over everything and the accompanying irritated insults became the soundtrack of my days. The summer the eldest turned 15, we (and by “we,” I mean me) built a baseball field as a memorial to my dad, a long-suffering Brooklyn Dodgers fan who taught me everything about the greatest game ever invented.
I imagined that a “Field of Dreams” of camaraderie would bloom, where someone could stop hating on their younger brother long enough to tell him what a great arm he had. They would feel what it’s like to connect on the sweet spot of the bat or get your glove on a line drive down the third base line in the nick of time. But the boys were interested only in what the team T-shirts should look like and in finding legit major league bases instead of the lame set I’d bought online.
I played my last mom card from atop the tractor the day “we” broke ground. “Boys, I shouldn’t have to ask for help; you should want to help.”
Sometimes life lessons arrive unexpectedly, and it’s important to notice and honor them.
But I couldn’t sell it, and I was outnumbered.
Leveling the field with the bucket attachment was a struggle. There is no “gentle” setting on a John Deere. But in the end, the boys could practice fielding bad hops off the boulders I’d exposed.
Content with the good-enough ballfield, we played our inaugural game. It was summer. It was hot. Crabby teenage boys made Doubleday’s perfect invention a nightmare.
“Just swing at anything, jerk!”
“Walks are boring and stupid!”
“Why is the sun always in my eyes?”
“Do we have batting gloves?”
I was relegated to catcher – the position no one wanted because the quality of pitching was subpar, and the batter’s insults were relentless. “Do you even know what a strike zone is?” “Just throw it underhand, loser!”
The job of Daisy, our dog, was to snatch any baseballs not caught by someone sulking in the outfield and hide them in the tall grass. We instituted the Daisy Ball rule. If she got hold of the ball, you could take your base and any runners could advance. They’d scream “Daisy Ball!” in jubilant unison – the only rule they ever agreed upon.
Not entirely fed up with the endless arguing and complaining, I decided we’d have a home run derby the following week. If you hit the ball into the pond about 150 feet from home plate, you got a $25 iTunes gift card. I wanted them to pitch to one another, to encourage and support. It didn’t matter to me who won, but it mattered a lot to them. They went out there every evening after dinner and hit buckets of balls. Their caustic remarks were delightfully silenced by the crack of rawhide on ash – or metal, if you’re gonna cheat, jerk.
The quietest nephew ran in one night after everyone else had given up.
“Aunt Amy, Aunt Amy – I did it! I got one in the pond! I kept throwing balls up in the air and I finally hit one. It was pretty much a rocket right into the pond.”
“That’s incredible!” I said. “Let’s go up and fish it out so you can sign it.”
“No, no, it’s OK,” he said hastily. “It’s too dark. We’ll go look for it tomorrow.”
It was then that I knew.
Later, with everyone in bed, including me, I heard a tiny knock on my door.
“Aunt Amy, are you awake?”
“Barely honey, come on in.”
The door opened. The quiet nephew came in and sat at the foot of my bed.
“Oh dear, what’s wrong?” I said.
“I have something to tell you, but it’s kind of embarrassing.”
“I didn’t hit the ball in the pond,” he said. “I wanted to, and I tried really hard, but I didn’t. I don’t know why I lied.”
“Oh, honey, I knew it when you said you didn’t want to go find it.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I wanted you to know what it feels like to have a lie roll around in your head. I wanted you to know how good it is to tell the truth, no matter what. Do you feel better?”
“Then I’m happy to announce that you are the winner of the home run derby.”
“But I didn’t put it in the pond.”
“But you told a hard truth,” I said, “and that’s a whole lot more important.”
“I love you, Aunt Amy.”
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“I love you too. Take out the garbage before you go to bed,” I said.
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A selection of the most viewed stories this week on the Monitor's website.
Hear about special editorial projects, new product information, and upcoming events.
Select stories from the Monitor that empower and uplift.
An update on major political events, candidates, and parties twice a week.
Stay informed about the latest scientific discoveries & breakthroughs.
A weekly digest of Monitor views and insightful commentary on major events.
Latest book reviews, author interviews, and reading trends.
A weekly update on music, movies, cultural trends, and education solutions.
The three most recent Christian Science articles with a spiritual perspective.
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