June 1, 2005
All 5

Mission Impossible.   Whether it was the laws of probability or a diabolical plan will never be known.  But a couple of weekends back all the Maynard daughters had “away from home” events, so guess who went “over the hill” to the front range to baby-sit all five.  None other than Grandpa and Grandma Geezer. 

With boys 8 and 5 plus females ages 3, 2 and 5 months, Jan and I split the responsibilities.  She took the girls.  The boys were in my charge.  This meant Jan did meals, diaper changes, middle of the night feedings, tea parties, and answered the  “Where’s mommy?” question at four in the morning while I function as the team bus driver for Little League games.  Like I said, we split the duties 50/50. 

Maybe the most difficult adjustment was seeing my own flesh and blood going over to the “dark side” by wearing blue and red uniforms with Cherry Creek printed on the front of their shirts.  It couldn’t have been more traumatic had they had been adorned in Raiders, or even worse, Yankees paraphernalia.   

What did I know about 5 and 6 year old baseball?  All I’d ever raised was girls.  Softball was their diamond sport and it didn’t start until fifth grade.   

So being a neophyte far be it from me to suggest changes. Still, is it the best of all possible locations to play a baseball game between youngsters possessing the attention span of a gnat on a field located just off the main runway to a busy airport?  This was “coach pitch” and the coach doing the pitching had to continually beg for the batters attention because five year olds with men a bat on their shoulder could care less about something as trivial as a ball coming their direction when there are planes speeding by about to touch down at Centennial Airport.  And if you think it was tough to keep a batter’s mind on the game, you have no idea what it was like in the field where ground balls continually rolled past shortstops, third baseman and outfielders who had their backs to the plate and eyes skyward watching planes buzz by at what seemed eye level.  

Not that airplanes were the only distraction.  The five year old, supposedly playing third base, noticed his eight-year-old brother playing with a butterfly behind the third base stands.  The older brother’s game didn’t start until the five year old’s had finished.  Now if you are five years old what would you rather do, wait for a ground ball that you knew you couldn’t catch come your direction, or check out your brother’s butterfly.  The game was halted while the coach, a man with the patience of a saint, called time and went behind the stands to explain the importance of playing third base.  He also promised my grandson the opportunity to find a butterfly of his own after the game. 

Speaking of the coach, he gave one of the most interesting between innings speeches in the history of baseball.  Just know it was a very warm over ninety-degree day.  Coaches and parents alike were urging the five and six year old baseball players to continually hydrate, “Drink that water boys, it’s hot out.”  Yet there were no bathrooms available.  And we’re talking five year old bladders. 

“Boys”, the coach said to his team assembled along the first base line between the third and fourth inning.  “When you have to take a potty break, remember to go in foul territory, like over there under the stands or out in right field behind the pine tree.  Going on the field, even the outfield, during the game, is bad manners.”