Helping with my son’s baseball practice, the coach needed some help in the field.  Players would take turns hitting.  If they swung and missed or hit a pop fly out, they would be out of the game and go to the field.  If they got a hit, they could keep batting.  Last hitter remaining would win the game.

Soon a ball came to me, a soft liner.  I squeezed the ball, then let it drop.  I let the kid survive.  Seeing my strategy, another dad looked at me with a grin and said, “I would not have been that nice.”  Well, maybe not, but I sure felt good and the player smiled knowing that he had been given a second chance.

A few batters later, a high pop fly headed my way.  With the ball flying lazily through the air, I camped under the ball.  I remembered a lesson that the head coach was trying to teach the kids, call for the ball.  In a loud voice and with arms waiving, I shouted, “I got it!  I got it!”  The ball landed safely in my mitt.  Perfect execution.  Perfect illustration of how to catch a pop fly.  I smiled.  I smiled and trotted toward the mound to return the ball.  I trotted toward the mound and handed the ball to the pitcher.  I handed the ball to the pitcher and remembered that I had forgotten to drop the ball.  I had demonstrated how to catch a pop fly, but I had forgotten to give another kid a second chance.

I even forgot to check and see which kid I had accidentally removed from the game.  I guessed that it was the kid standing in the field, who looked like he was ready to cry.  Second chances, I hoped that I would eventually be eligible.  Lesson learned?  Sometimes dads forget, even when they remember.