I'm Super Me!

Foreward: This is a second-hand account of a happening today that occurred while I was in my office writing about the finer points of direct install toilet programs. I am retelling it as I heard it from Brent and Elsa. I'll see if Brent will take a look at it before I hit publish, but no promises.

A (relatively) new friend and adoptive momma of two from Ethiopia recently described parenting children that have been adopted as two steps forward and one step back but not always in that order. Friday night included a big step backward in our family - you know, the kind of step back that occurs when you unexpectedly get hit by a Mack truck. At least that's how it seemed Friday night. Needless to say its been a long weekend and is shaping up to be a long week. I think we'll be repositioning ourselves after this step back for quite a while to come.


But Friday night inevitably turned into Saturday morning. I don't know how many parents have to sit with the pain caused by looking their child straight in the eyes and saying, "I love you no matter what because I am your mommy and that's what mommy's do - they love their kids, no matter what" while hoping with all their hearts that just the tiniest, most microscopic spec of that message might sink in and plant itself somewhere within their child's brain and heart. That they might be able to hear it, if even for a second, or, better yet, feel what its like to have a mommy they can count on forever. We took on Saturday morning with a slower pace than usual. But swim lessons were at 10, and by 4 we found our little family solidly engaged in a family game of baseball in the park up the road.


Sunday rolled around and I had to work to make up some of the hours I missed last week staying home with the kids for the MLK holiday. Elsa had baseball tryouts since she is the magical age of seven (where you, apparently, are old enough to have to try out for baseball), so Brent and Ashagre piled into his truck and headed out to the same park our family had spent an enjoyable and refreshing hour the day prior batting and practicing our big throws. 


Both kids are playing baseball again this year. You might recall that last year, with no intention of doing so, we got our kids involved in Pony baseball just a few short weeks after they had arrived in America. They didn't yet speak or understand much English, but they took to the game - especially Ashagre - and seemed to enjoy the opportunity to play with kids their own age and perfect their skills, so we stuck with it. Elsa was always too uncomfortable to join the team, but she went to every practice and was given an honorary jersey and a spot in the batting line up on the last game of the season. Both kids' skills improved dramatically and their confidence soared. They couldn't wait for the season to start up again. 


This year we enrolled the kids in a different league. The games and practices are closer to our house and the kids don't have to sell coupon books (very important to Brent and me, especially Brent). Upon arriving at the field today Brent quickly learned that this new league was also a little more serious than the rag-tag league the kids played in last year. In short, we were way out of our league. Each kid arriving showed up with their own bat bag, several bats, and a batting helmet. Each kid towered above Elsa - she was lucky if she came to their armpits. Each kid - every single one - was a boy. None of them had brown skin.


Elsa was scared out of her mind. It was written all over her face. Brent feared the worse but remained supportive. He pointed out the adults she needed to pay attention to, told her to do her best, and to have fun. They sent the kids out in the field and threw them some grounders. Elsa stopped the ball with her mitt and made a respectable (although uncomparable to those of the other kids) throw back to the coach. They sent the kids out to the outfield and started lobbing pop flies at them. Brent had to turn his head and not look. Some of the other kids caught each pop fly like they had been doing it for years (which they had), others did their best to get under the ball and caught one here and there. Elsa just stood in the field with her mitt at her side as the balls dropped from the sky a few feet from her. Brent prayed that she wouldn't get hit in the face. 


Next it was time to bat. Elsa made her way back to the bench with the other kids but it was obvious that she was near her limit. Brent debated with himself for a minute or so and then walked down to give her a pep talk. "All that's left is batting. You love to bat. Just take three swings at the ball and we're done. It doesn't matter how you do. Just have fun." He engaged some of the boys on the bench and asked them to help her out since she was new to the league. A couple of them agreed and made an effort. Elsa sat rigid on the bench, her eyes bulging, her mind somewhere less scary. She did not get up and beg to leave when Brent returned to the bleachers.


Finally it was her time to bat. She grabbed her brother's bat, squared her feet at the plate, gave it a tap with the bat and focussed on the ball. The pitch was thrown and she hit it - a nice line drive right past the pitcher! Everyone in the bleachers erupted in a huge cheer (they hadn't been cheering for the other kids). Elsa beamed. Her eyes were still huge, but you could see that she was back on the planet, back at the plate, ready for the next pitch. Her huge smile returned and in it her pride. The next pitch was thrown and she missed. The third was thrown and she made another solid hit. She rounded the bases and handed off the borrowed batting helmet (the first thing she told me when I got home was that she was the only kid that didn't have a black hat of her own) and retreated to the safety and celebratory hugs of her daddy's arms. At her request, they went and grabbed some hamburgers for lunch - Brent felt it was the least he could do for putting her through tryouts. She beamed as she recounted hitting the ball when I got home and her daddy just beamed.


Two steps forward, one step back - not always in that order.

Tonight she wanted to wear her cape. I tied it on her,
telling her that she was now Super Elsa. She ran around
the house until dinner time shouting, "I'm Super Me!"