Paul’s soccer ball is sometimes even a dinner guest.
I’m sorry…I missed a blog. Life suddenly got ridiculously stressful and I decided to save my sanity. This week it is only marginally better, but I return…so I decided to dream of playing catch.
I wanted my son to love balls, all kind of balls – big, little, misshaped, perfect shaped. Growing up, I always had a ball in my hands. The sensation was the feeling of fun about to happen. I played catch with any and all takers. I played catch with myself, bouncing balls off the wall, off the roof, throwing balls skyward and snatching them from their descending velocity. I would talk anyone and everyone into playing catch – my brother, my friends, my dad after work, but never, ever my mom. I did not hold it against her. She fed me.
After I broke my back and became paralyzed from the chest down at age thirteen, I still loved balls but I played less catch. It’s harder, less graceful. I have a hard time balancing the core of my body with all the different arm motions. Don’t get me wrong. I still play catch. It helps me feel in love.
I started gently tossing Nerf balls toward my son before he could stand. I wanted him to feel the joy and the confidence of having good hand-eye coordination. So we played catch and soccer in the living room. We play football and basketball and balloon tennis over the couch. We bounced super balls and putted golf balls. We played and played. I swear his sparkling brown eyes could emit their own giggle when chasing down a ball. We had balls all over the house.
Of course, I think everyone should play more catch than they do. The world would be a better place. It teaches patience and how to make something out of nothing. There are many other reasons to play more catch, most of which I won’t bore you with. I will with one more, however. Playing catch is a surprising form of spiritual practice. It forces one to practice non-judgment. Like playing catch, non-judgment also takes practice, but it doesn’t mean there is absolutely no judgment. For example, one does not ignore the speed of the approaching ball. Instead, you see, you open, you move…all without thought. Similarly, some level of judgment is necessary to think at all.
But if you over-judge, if you over-think the ball coming at you, if you worry, then you flinch, clutch up, you flail, you jerk. Everyone feels awkward. People look away. Playing catch teaches you to trust the flow of moving objects and to receive them with grace. There is a rhythm to the Universe. If one learns to reduce unnecessary judgment, there is more to appreciate. And you thought it was just catch.
Paul is 15 now and we still have balls all over the house, the most readily available being soccer balls. He is constantly dribbling with his feet…to the bathroom, to brush his teeth, to take out the garbage, to answer the door. Last month, he left a miniature soccer ball out and it got wedged under the platform of my elevator/lift and broke it. That cost me $514. I guess you reap what you sow. I live with Paul every other week. When he is gone, the balls do not stay quiet.