A few weeks ago, my six-year-old son headed to his semi-final baseball game, and of course, he really wanted to win. Little did he know what was in store. Shortly after he entered the dugout, he tripped on a bag and fell hard to the ground, tearing up his arms and knees. When he got up to bat, the ball hit his hand hard, causing him to cry. He toughed it out and stayed up to bat, but struck out. His team ended up losing the game. When the teams did the “high-five” line after the game, a boy on the other team hit my son’s hand as hard as he could (not knowing that it was his injured hand). And when you’d think it couldn’t get any worse, when the coach pulled Karter’s “end-of-season” trophy out of the box, the bat was broken off of his trophy.
When Karter got home from the game, he wanted to be alone
and not talk about it. I suggested he take a bath, and he thought that was a
good idea.
About 10 minutes later, I quietly opened the bathroom door
and peeked in. I saw his little slumped, defeated shoulders...my heart hurt
for him. I knelt to the ground, and gently asked, “Are you ready to talk
about it now?”