Nuclear Family Warhead

Nukeboy2 won a drawing a week ago. The prize was 4 tickets to the local ballpark to watch Minor League baseball at it’s finest. He was also designated to throw out the first pitch. Being that the only thing he has ever pitched with frequency and efficiency is fits, we went to work directly. We borrowed Nukeboy1’s baseball mitt and went outside to practice. He got the hang of it pretty quickly, but then, like most things in childhood, cockiness took over and the balance of the afternoon was spent either chasing baseballs thrown over my head or covering my crotch with my glove.  I didn’t mind at all; the look of determination and excitement on his face was contagious.  We practiced all week.

Game night was last night.  We arrived at the field early for some pre-game warm-up in the bull pen, but were turned away because the pro’s needed it, or some stupid reason like that.  I packed his arm in ice after pulling his coat up over it, rubbed his shoulders and called him names like: killer and slugger and champ. 

He walked to the mound with purpose, head cocked slightly to the left.  He eyeballed the crowd as they cheered his arrival.  When the ball was handed to him he tossed it roughly in his glove, just to show it who was boss.  He shook off the first signal.  And the second.  Finally, he got signaled a pitch that he liked; one that he knew well, one he had practiced for hours the previous week; The 14 mph one-hopper.  No wind up; he delivered from the stretch.  He didn’t even bother to check the runner at first, he just brought the heat.  The ball hung in the air for what seemed like minutes; then, right before it reached home plate, it dove into the ground and one-hopped into the waiting catcher’s mitt.  Success!  His tireless training and off-season diet plan proving resourceful once again. 

He collected his ceremonial ball from the catcher and cooly sauntered back to the gate by the dugout.   Mom and Dad followed at a distance.  Can’t let the groupies know that the posse includes the parents.  He had also received a ball autographed by the entire team.  As he settled into his seat for the opening pitch, I spied the smallest of smiles emanating from the corners of his mouth, growing bigger with each autograph he read from the ball.  By the time he finished reading them, he was beaming.  

The game was less than successful for the home team, but Nukegirl got to belt out the words to “Take Me Out To The Ball Game” with gusto, so she was happy.  She brought her brand new pink baseball glove to the game and found a matching souvenir bat and squishy ball in the gift shop.  She is now the total baseball package.  Nukeboy1 got his first taste of live music when BarlowGirl took to the field for a post game concert.  A month and a half into his electric guitar phase, he was enthralled.  I’d never heard of them, but they were quite good and churches from miles around came to see them.  In the parking lot when we were leaving, there was row after row of 15 person church vans, many of them with “BarlowGirl” shoe polished on the windows.

A full 9 inning game, concert set-up and 6 songs were enough for the Nukekids.  Nukegirl was now just tapping her foot as the rest of her body was shutting down.  Nukeboy2 was chin in palm, elbow on armrest by the 2nd song.  Nukeboy1 would have stayed all night, but we decided to go before we faced the very real possibility of having to carry 2 sleeping children the 1/2 mile back to the car.  My name isn’t Nukepony.  All in all the night was a great success, Nukeboy2 being especially proud that he was able to take his family out to the game for a night of fun.  Way to go Nukeboy2, way to go. 

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