I am writing this post on Saturday morning as I sit outside, a balmy 57 degrees, and watch my daughter’s softball fielding practice. People are looking at me strangely as I type and they chat nonsensically among themselves. I am not in a social frame of mind today so the laptop is a great crutch.

He must be doing important work so let’s leave him alone.

I am at Diamond Nation, an impressive baseball/softball facility where there are 3 softball practices and 3 men’s college baseball games going on at the same time. As interesting as a 3rd/4th grade softball practice can be, I’ve walked around quite a bit, watching the baseball games and allowing my mind to wander.

More on that in a moment.

** Quick warning – this post will include time travel so please read in small chunks in order to fully comprehend it. **

This weekend was more than likely the last basketball game my son will have ever played. He is in 8th grade and isn’t looking to continue playing when he enters high school next year. I’ve coached him this year for the first (and last) time and I am so thankful that I had the opportunity to do so. It’s been fun to run along side him in practice, shove each other while scrimmaging and get in a little trash talk along the way.

When I originally started writing this post, I envisioned exploring how sad it felt to see the end of my son’s basketball career. But now it is Sunday afternoon (FYI, first jump in time), I’m at another softball practice (batting practice this time) and turns out the final basketball game was in fact not all that sad. The sadness morphed into more of a melancholy feeling and a look towards the future.

Up until 5 seconds remained in today’s game, Jack had yet to score in a game this season. Dude has a killer jump shot but just hasn’t had any luck this year. But yes, I shit you not, he scored the last basket of the game today. While it had no outcome on the game itself, it couldn’t have been more appropriate and the perfect ending to his 8 year basketball career. Jack hasn’t scored much over the years, but he knows the game better than anyone and that bodes well for his future. After the shot went in, we looked at each other across the court, smiled (me with a slight tear) and without saying a word, knew we were OK with the end of this era.

Baseball season will start in a few weeks and this could potentially be Jack’s last season with that as well. Baseball is his true love and we’ve all thoroughly enjoyed trekking out to all of his games over the past eight years. I still remember the first time he pitched in a game and how terrifying and exciting it was. I remember tears after losses. I remember catching him in the driveway after the snow had cleared. I remember throwing “high pops” off of the deck and into the backyard. It’s cliche, I know, but where the hell did the time go?

Just like with basketball, Jack most likely won’t play in high school next year and again, we’re all OK with that.

Back to Saturday morning’s softball practice. Fun, right?

As I watched these college kids play baseball, completely cognizant of the fact that they were of an age where they could be my son, I felt two different and distinct emotions:

Jealousy – these kids are at their physical peak doing something they love. Bastards. Even though each had a .01% of making it to the major leagues, the possibility was still there. Not to mention, they have their professional life still ahead of them as well, with endless options. I’m struggling with where I am professionally right now and would kill to go back and take some chances. They’re still young enough to mess up and recover, multiple times.

A quick selfish aside – I was let’s say, an above average basketball player while in high school. I was a smart player with decent size and a solid jump shot. Athletically, I was 6 foot 3 inches tall but skinny as a bone. I can remember my father pushing me to work out more and add more muscle. I never heeded his advice and to this day, still wonder what could have been if I worked harder and dedicated myself more. It still burns me inside. That little bit of backstory hopefully helps explain my aforementioned jealousy.

Excitement – I just love being around baseball. The sound of the pop in the glove. The sound of bat on ball. The routine of warming up and stretching. Don’t laugh at me, but baseball is sport and art. I truly believe that. The family is going to New York Mets spring training next week and my photos will further cement the idea of baseball as art.

But what really excited me as I watched these youngsters play, was the knowledge that my son will some day be involved with the sport (and other sports like basketball) in some capacity; be it as broadcaster, as writer or as reporter, this will be his world.

For years now he has known his future profession and I know he will dominate when the time comes. I just hope he invites me to hang around with him on the job once in a while.

So while the sports playing may soon be coming to an end, a new era is arriving. I look forward to stories he writes for the school newspaper. I look forward to hearing him announce games. I look forward to watching him develop into the man I know he will be. A super compassionate, quietly funny and ridiculously knowledgeable dude.

Will I miss the little league games and catches after dinner? Sure I will. But I now see that all of that has led to where we are today.

And I’m pumped to see what is next.