Mooning on second base ...

Today on facebook I read a post from a friend who noted her first grade son wore his first "cup" to baseball practice last night.  She went on to say said "cup" was tested repeatedly by her son who insisted on hitting it with his bat.  This leads me to another thought on boys, and my thoughts that boys are just dumb compared to girls. I can freely say boys are dumb because I have three of my own.  If I didn't have any boys that might just sound mean as hell.  But, alas, I have experience with stupid boys. 

After I read my friends post, recalled my stupid boys theory, it made me think back to when my 12 year-old was first starting baseball.  We lived on a tiny little island called Terceira, in the Azores (think 12X18 mile island in the middle of the Atlantic off of Portugal) on a military base.  My husband is/was/still thinks he is/ an amazing athlete in his prime. He played just about every sport involving some sort of violence and a ball, big or small, baseball to golf.  All this being said, Drew was our ONLY child at the time, and Jon assumed he would of course have passed on his athletic prowess to his son ... alas, again, Jon married me.  My athletic prowess begins and ends when I became an aerobics instructor ... and let's be honest, that's sort of fast dancing instead of a sport.

I digress.  When we signed Drew up for baseball I had little hope for the kids athletics, but Jon was unstoppable.  Jon outfitted Drew head to toe with the best cleats, a new bat, a baseball bag for carrying said bat, a mitt that rivaled the price of a second mortgage, a uniform (which was quite cute on his little bug of a frame at 4 years of age).  SO, the season begins and Drew isn't exactly standing out as an athlete of any sort.  But, with it being a group of 4 years old and t-ball, noone stood out unless they were leaving the field crying.  Drew didn't cry, but Drew wasn't impressed with the game.  He was bored.  And when Drew gets bored, heaven help us all.

The first thing Drew's coach had to teach the kids was outside of hitting the ball off said tee, they then had to run the bases, in order, 1,2,3.  And believe you me, getting the kids to not head in a dead sprint to third base after hitting the ball was a real problem!  The coach finally was able to teach most of the kids the first,  second, third base drill, hallelujiah chorus ensue.  The first game was pretty exciting.  I thought Jon might wet his pants seeing his little genetic code out on the playing field, hunkered down like a little Red Sox player.  (Jon is from New England, all references to baseball will always and forever be, Red Sox because in Jon's eyes, the Red Sox ARE the only team that exists, the rest are just a means to an end for the Red Sox to beat). 

Drew fielded the ball as well as the rest of the kids.  The ball would roll down the field, either fall into the hands of a kid with his mitt on the ground, or roll up the kids feet and nail him in the chin.  Drew opted for the latter option most of the time.  Before we knew it, it was batting time!  We watched the first few kids bat off the tee, and make the base run (only 2 of the 3 had to be coerced into running to first base instead of third).  Drew was finally up, and we cheered like crazy people.  After all, Drew was our first and only child, so we were rather certifiable.  Drew popped the ball off the tee and ran to first base.  Awesome.

The next kid hit the ball off the tee and we screamed at Drew to run to second base.  He did as he was screamed at to do, and he ran to second.  Man on first, Drew on second.  We were pointing and hollering at Drew to get ready to run to third base.  Well ... hmmm.  The next kid to the tee was a tad slower on the uptake, but since this was 4 year old t-ball, each and every kid WAS given the chance to hit the ball ... no matter HOW long it took.  This kid was taking what seemed like forever.  It was a hot spring day, and we were all holding our breath the kid would hit the damned ball.  Everyone was getting bored ... including Drew.

I glanced over to second base to see if Drew had fallen asleep on the base and almost fell over.  Drew had apparently gotten so bored with this kids lack of dedication to hitting the damned ball that he decided he needed to mix it up a bit. Drew, my dear, dear, child, pulled his pants down and MOONED the whole crowd ... including a little booty shake.  I tried like hell to pretend he wasn't my child.  I looked around to try and cast a glare at other parents so people wouldn't think he belonged to them and not me.  My husband was in hysterical laughter and i was pretty sure he would fall off the bleachers at any moment.  I smacked my husband's arm and did the "this is YOUR child glare" and he hollered, "Drew, dude, pull your pants up!" 

This was a small base, very small.  Everyone knew everyone, and everyone talked about the 4 year-old booty shaker for months after.  It was a stellar parenting moment to which I have never publicly written until now.  Drew has not sinced mooned or booty shaken since.  I think the lecture he got after the game cured him of his need to create public indecency.  Drew is 12 now ... and I am hoping this story recreates itself one day if he ever has a boy.