BOYS TO MEN

During a recent attic clean-out, we hauled multiple bins full of dust-covered trophies and awards down and summoned our four now adult sons to take what they wanted - which was mostly nothing.

At first, I struggled as I watched them condemn item after item to the trash. Even a bit of indignation started rising as I recalled past events that led to these shiny piles of clutter.

When our oldest started baseball, our youngest was a newborn, and we had two other toddlers. Not a baseball fan, but a huge fan of my kids, I attended every game I could. I fought valiantly to watch the game, feed the baby, and keep the other two alive while balancing cheese nachos and a shriveled, green-ish hot dog on my lap. We spent 20 seasons at the ballfields and about $5,000 on sunflower seeds and Gatorade alone.

Some things got easier as the kids got older, but still, year after year, we slogged through the spring mud, melted in the summer heat, froze at the nighttime fall ball games, and put countless miles on our cars as we split up for, on average, over a dozen games a weekend all over the city during All-Star season. At one point, we had three boys on three different all-star teams. And for the first five years or so, we did all of this without cell phones or GPS.

And you don't want even ONE of those trophies?!

There was a time when our boys proudly displayed these prizes on every surface in their rooms, covering every dresser and desktop. We even built a ledge near the ceiling and all the way around one of their bedrooms for the overflow - and there still wasn't enough space for all those glittering athletic men frozen in homerun poses, gold medals, blue ribbons, and certificates of achievement.

"Isn't it amazing how we fight, work, and struggle so hard for things that eventually mean nothing?" I thought as we dragged the bins out for the trash. But I know that, even though they were being discarded, they still had meaning - for all of us.

For years I watched with pride as my boys honed their skills, practiced, studied, and worked to earn those worldly accolades. But the trophies were just a means to an end - character-building stepping stones that inspired them toward the things that mattered most; to be humble in victory and quiet in defeat, to handle disappointment with dignity, be a team player, know when to follow and when to lead, and understanding the importance of showing up and respect. "Practice, work hard, and good things happen" was the mantra of one of their most beloved coaches (besides their dad), and they lived it out over their many years of competition and beyond.

So tomorrow, a garbage truck will come by and scoop up 4 lifetimes' worth of my sons' physical and academic achievements; hard-fought homerun derby, little league, and world series trophies, along with spelling bee and school character awards - all dumped with junk mail and leftovers in some landfill where all of the physical remnants of our experiences are eventually laid to rest.

And I'm good with it.

We can look with gratitude in the rear-view mirror at the things that helped to build us, but we don't have to take them with us. In fact, we probably shouldn't because it's too tempting to rest on what's been instead of looking forward to what's next.

Baseball helped build my young boys into the incredible men they are today. And, even though I wasn't always the best or the most enthusiastic baseball mom, I'd eat a thousand more green-ish hot dogs for that.