It feels as though we are always buying tickets to some theatrical
performance, often with one of my daughters in it. There is always an
imperative to sell tickets, or buy tickets, or both. To show up for the
big day (or, as with most shows, days). Today, there was no theater.
There was baseball--little league, to be specific. Through a combination
of promises and timing, we all went to my son's game. As he threw and
batted and ran on a field we could see only blurrily, we ate concession
food and talked a little about baseball and a lot about assorted other
things. He seemed barely aware that we were there. Yet, we clapped at
the good parts and held our breaths at the tense ones, perhaps not so
different than at the theater (except squinting in the sun instead of
squinting in the dark).
As his team left the field (victorious, yay!), and he walked across left
center to meet us, I watched as he noticed our little group. While he
might have known all along that we were there, in that moment, he really
saw us. Just the briefest pause and smile, but a moment of clear
happiness at looking up and seeing his family there to cheer him on.
Don't be fooled into thinking it's always about buying the most tickets.
Even when there are no tickets involved, it's often just the showing up
that really matters.
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