Take Me Out to the Ball Game

There might not have been any peanuts or Cracker Jacks for sale, but with the heat of southern Utah unexplainably under a hundred degrees the night we went to Dylan's softball game, it turned out to be a pretty decent night for a ball game.

Photo credit: Chuck Bennorth

Now, if you know me at all, you know darn well, I wasn't the one playing. I have had an aversion to softball since I was a young girl. Whenever I was up at bat, the entire outfield would come in-field, and sit down, waiting for me to strike out. Should I mention they gave me SIX strikes? Those were sad days. Another uncomfortable memory I have of playing softball in the hayfields of Virginia is watching the action through the webbing of my mitt, trying to keep those gnasty gnats out of my eyes. But I digress...

My oldest had a double header while we were visiting them in Saint George, but he didn't seem very enthusiastic that Chuck and I wanted to bring our cameras to the game. He wasn't sure we understood the situation. 

Photo Credit: Chuck Bennorth

Dylan's the new guy on the electrician company's team, so he's just there to have a little fun, and help them have enough teammates to play. "I'm not that great," he told us. We didn't care; it would be an opportunity to practice shooting action shots. 

He reminded us that hardly anyone would be in the stands; we would kind of stand out with our telephoto lenses. We could handle that. 

Jamie and I had fun chatting, and cheering for Dylan.
Photo Credit: Chuck Bennorth

He mentioned that hardly any of the ball players would have family there watching. That was okay by us; we'd have our pick of seats in the stands.

It was settled. Dylan would have his own little entourage of paparazzi photographing all of the action at the community ball park. He wasn't exactly thrilled, but he resigned himself to the fact that we were determined to shoot the softball game.

When Dylan was a little boy, he would get up to bat, quickly strike out, and happily trot back to the bench, grinning ear-to-ear. I remember his first hit; he headed straight for third base, and it took a couple of coaches and the yelling of a laughing crowd to get him going in the right direction toward first base. 

Photo Credit: Chuck Bennorth

Now here he is, catching pop-up flies, grounders, and running toward home plate, after successfully running the bases in the right direction, I remind you. My firstborn is in his thirties, and still giving me proud mama moments. 

Softball will never be my game, but if Dylan is playing, you can bet your bottom dollar I want to be there if I can, with my camera around my neck, ready to catch my boy in action.