Carolyn Holly: My Vantage Point

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Always a baseball mom

Always a baseball mom

Carolyn's son, Colby Hawk

by Carolyn Holly

Bio | Email | Follow: @KTVBCarolyn

KTVB.COM

Posted on May 25, 2012 at 10:15 AM

Updated Saturday, May 26 at 1:03 PM

As we approach the NAIA World Series in Lewiston, I thought I would write about something hundreds of moms around the country will experience in the coming days. It’s nothing new to them, but it’s something that binds us all together when you are a baseball mom!

There is no other sisterhood where you feel every one of your son's pitches -- as if you were giving birth all over again.

Where a foul tip has you holding your breath and praying your youngest can handle “another one of those” again.

Where the situation is too tense to watch in person. You know the drill: You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the sound of the crowd to see what happens because the game is tied with two outs, the bases are loaded and it’s your son facing a full count!

Despite having lived through all of those experiences, I wouldn't trade my baseball mom status for anything!

WHY? Because baseball moms know what the game means to their sons. We’ve watched them grow up in it. They started out as boys and are now determined young men because that’s what the game has asked of them.

I wish all the players and their parents, good times and good luck in this year’s World Series.

Before I take to the road, I want to share this poem sent to me by fellow baseball mom Teresa Fabricius. She is the mother of Zack Fabricius, a College of Idaho player in this years’ World Series.

by Andrew Peters (2004) ©
Published: Baseball Almanac (2004)
I remember playing catch with my dad
I remember the first time I got a curveball to break
I remember how nervous I was the first time I pitched
I remember the embarrassed joy I felt when I got my first strikeout
I remember pitching in my sleep
I remember yearning to pitch
I remember the feeling of warming up and knowing if I had it or not
I remember ignoring the sore arm
I remember the uniform never fitting just right
I remember the mound rarely being just right
I remember hating my catcher
I remember having whole-hearted faith in my catcher
I remember the beauty of a catcher’s framing
I remember the calm of knowing my teammates were fielding for me
I remember only hearing my teammates and my dad
I remember knowing my mom was at the game
I remember the recognition of fear in a hitter
I remember knowing I couldn’t get some hitters out
I remember knowing I was definitely going to get a hitter out
I remember the feeling when I knew the hitter got all of it
I remember hating my coach for taking me out of the game
I remember loving my coach for letting me finish the game
I remember hating umpires
I remember finding an umpire’s strike zone
I remember being angry with myself for thinking I was getting tired
I remember the sweat dripping from the bill of my cap
I remember summoning the false arrogance that I needed
I remember the sting of my fingertips when I let one go just right
I remember the best pitch I ever threw
I remember having nothing left
I remember how sad I felt
Now I can only remember pitching

-Carolyn
 

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