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My son was maybe seven years old when he was on the T-ball team I coached in Harvard, Illinois. He was one of the better players and hung with the popular kids.
Brett was also on my T-ball team. He was an awkward, clumsy boy without a shred of athletic ability. He was not in the popular clique.
Everyday at the beginning of practice I'd have the kids warm up by playing catch. Brett would seldom have a partner. If he did, it was by elimination, not by choice.
One day on the way to practice, I asked my son how he would feel about partnering up with Brett for warm-ups.
"He gets left alone a lot," I said. "It might make him feel more a part of things."
Tim pondered the situation for a few minutes.
I knew what I was asking for...I was, of course, asking one of the popular kids to reach out to one who was not popular at all. I was asking him to cross that invisible clique line, the unspoken but all too obvious barrier from one world to the other. And I was asking him to do it in front of the other popular kids.
I was pretty confident in my son, but I really wasn't sure what he was going to say.
After a moment of the thought tumbling around his brain he said, "Okay."
If you're a parent, you've had moments when you've been incredibly proud of your kids. This was one of mine.
As I organized the warm-ups that evening, he immediately went up to Brett and asked him if he wanted to pair up. The other boys took notice and Brett never had a problem finding a partner again. Tim had accepted him, so they all did.
What happened two weeks later would be impossible to make up...
The safest position to put a poor and unsteady player in T-ball is catcher. There really isn't that much to do...I mean the ball sits on a tee. There stood Brett.
On this particular day, we were up by a run in the bottom of the final inning. Our opponent had a runner at second with two outs when a boy slapped a hard single to left.
The player on second took off on the ping of the bat. My left fielder scooped the ball up as the runner rounded third.
Picture this please: The runner is steamrolling home. The only thing between him and scoring was this boy Brett. My left fielder was about to heave the ball home. Winning or losing, success or failure rested on an incredibly unlikely scenario.
My left fielder threw the ball. Brett stood on the third base line directly in front of home plate with his mitt at his side.
I swear to you he didn't move. The ball hit his mitt and stuck in it. The runner ran into him and the ball. Somehow Brett held onto it as he tumbled to the ground.
The runner was out...we won...and guess who was the hero?
His teammates mobbed him. I've never in my life seen a smile so big. They patted his head, lifted him up, shouted and chanted his name.
Brett, an accidental hero to be sure, but a hero just the same. For the first time in his life people were shouting his name in praise rather than derision.
A boy fully celebrated, because a popular seven year old made sure he had been fully accepted just weeks before.
It is one of my favorite moments in all my life.
Lest you think that this is simply a sentimental story about two young boys and a T-ball game, think again.
And consider what simple acceptance does for the heart of man.
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