Day 53

Back when my oldest 2 children were young, we lived in an older neighborhood that wasn't quite inner-city, but wasn't the suburbs either. We had great neighbors, and I loved our little house. There were kids around, but you didn't usually see too many of them as the yards were small and streets were busy.

But every once in a while, my husband and I would grab both our kids and the neighbors' and walk down to the neighborhood play area. There was run-down playground equipment, a field with old, crooked soccer goal posts, and a backstop with what I supposed passed for a baseball field.

We would start with the 6 of us, taking turns swinging a bat and the rest of us fielding. Both kids and parents played baseball/softball throughout their years, so it was a good way for all of us to do something active together. But more times than not, about every 15 minutes or so a kid would show up on their bike, or walk over from a yard and stand to watch us. We would always ask the child to join us, and their faces would range from fear to delight. Many of them didn't have gloves or hadn't been shown by anyone how to throw a ball, but my husband and I had learned over the years to pick extras up at garage sales and we bought a tee for those who struggled with a moving target.

I always loved those dusty, sweaty afternoons. It felt so good to know that we had helped some kids that usually didn't play outside (or maybe even play at all) have an afternoon of outdoor fun. My kids also learned how to make friends on the spot, and sometimes got a dose of reality on how good they had it in life.

Today my husbad and the 10-year old got the chance to play a pick-up game. This time it was football, and there were about an equal amount of adults to kids. But just like before, people who had never met before suddenly found themselves on a team together, laughing and joking as they slid in the mud. 

There was also familiarity with the past as people walking by with their dogs or riding their bikes would stop to watch for a bit, smiling at what is unfortuantely an all too unfamiliar sight.

An hour and a half later, they slowly walked back to their cars, after shaking hands and slapping backs. Only a few of the dads were limping, which I considered a small victory. My husband didn't limp, but there was definately blood mixed in with mud on his shirt, and his gait told me there was Advil in his future. But both he and the 10-year old were smiling, as there is nothing more fun for boys than football and mud.

So today's pic represents a lot of things- male bonding, the magic of a pick-up game, and an old time favorite pair (football and mud). Now I am going to go check on my husband- he is moaning loud enough in the shower that I feel the need to make sure he is alone...