Diamond Girl

Making—and treasuring—dust-covered memories

This softball dad wouldn’t trade the dusty postgame drives home with his daughter for anything in the world.

It’s early Thursday morning and I’m driving to work with sleep still in my eyes. I was out late at the baseball diamond, as my daughter Hannah’s team played a doubleheader. The seat next to me is empty, except for the dusty imprint where my daughter rode home last night.

The dust is a ruddy red colour. The dust from the shale that every softball parent knows so well. But as I look at that dust, I don’t get upset that my car is dirty. I don’t rush to wipe it away. I don’t want to. Not yet.

The dust, that shale, reminds me of what an awesome sport softball is and the life lessons it is teaching my daughter and myself. This is a sport where you get dirty, dusty sure, even filthy. The dust can hang in a cloud off your kid at the end of a game— and it is awesome.

The dust is a reminder of their successes and failures. The slide into second where they’re safe, or the ball they dove for and missed. It is a game that truly embodies the age-old adage get up, dust yourself off and try again. The dust reminds me of talks in the car before and after games. I let her talk. I try to just listen. I fight the urge to give her a pep talk on the way to the games, or critique her play on the way home. I try to stick to questions such as did you play hard? Did you have fun? I always say that I love to watch her play.

The dust reminds me of the laughter of a car full of girls on the way to a game or a practice. Sure, there are lots of times when the car is silent because they’re all looking at their phones. But then out of nowhere, the laughter erupts, the excitement builds, their love of the game, and each other, filling the vehicle.

The dust reminds me of the parents, coaches and volunteers I have met through this game. It reminds me of the community my family has become a part of. A community of like-minded individuals who want these girls to succeed— not just on the dia- mond, but in everything they do.

The dust reminds me that these girls will not play this game together forever and that I will not drive my daughter to and from games forever. This time together is precious. It is a gift that has no price tag.

So, tonight as I drive home from work, I will again look at the seat next to me, that seat full of red dust, which only comes from a ball diamond. It will remind me that softball is a game full of highs and lows. It will remind me that life is also full of highs and lows. I’ll wipe down the seat and clean up the vehicle. Hannah has softball on Saturday —and I want the car to be ready for the next day’s memories. ■