Hall of Famer Talks about Miracle League on Hanity!!
http://hannity.blogs.foxnews.com/2009/06/15/harmon-killebrew/
I was excited to find an email about MLB Hall of Famer Harmon Killebrew speaking on Sean Hannity's about a Miracle League event!! (Unfortunately, I didn't check my MML mail box until today, so I missed it)
This is the national exposure we need!!
Yippee!
Friday, June 19, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
It's Just Little League....Not the World Series
I spent Thursday evening doing something I haven't done in nearly 5 years. Something I vowed I would never do again. I went to my youngest nephew's very first All-Star game.
Now don't get me wrong, I love my nephew. It's the atmosphere of the average, American, Little League baseball park that I abhor.
I know what you are thinking..."Joy, you volunteer at a ball park." The Miracle League park is much different. Everyone is loving, supportive and there to have fun. It was after an ugly incident as a ball park mom when my husband was our son's coach that made me watch my first Miracle League game. I remember watching and thinking, " THIS is what baseball should be."
But I digress....
"Scooter is 6 and is playing for the very first time in the coach-pitch division of his hometown park league
For his first time to ever play a sport, he is surprisingly good. He has played a variety of positions with efficiency, and was chosen from his regular team to play on the All Star team, even over players that had been playing since cap ball. We were all very excited.
I rode with my mother and her husband, about an hour from our hometown to the park, out in the middle of no where. It was everything I remember from my days as a ball park mom....heat, bugs, dirt, crappy bleachers. Even the smell, a mixture of Off, sweat, Alabama red clay, and over-cooked hot dogs, was the same.
The park was your standard "clover" design, four ball fields extending out from a central concession building, that carried your standard ball park fare: Hot Dogs, hamburgers, fries, and nachos.
I will have to say my park has much better nachos. I am not even certain what we received could be defined as "nachos," bland, round, tortilla chips with congealing, canned cheese poured over them. And they were expensive! Nachos at my park (the good kind) are a full dollar cheaper. For what we paid for a plate of nachos, we could have brought them in from Chili's. I thought, "I'm blowing my diet over this?!"
The boys were very excited to be playing in new uniforms and they posed for a team photo before they warmed up. We took our seats at the top of the wooden bleachers, rubbed on (ineffective) bug repellant, and prepared for the game. That is when I identified them....the overly aggressive ball park parent.
People who do not have children, or people who do not have children that play organized team sports will have no concept of what I am about to discuss, so bear with me as best you can.
On the other hand, those who do have children, involved in some sort of team sport, will not only know exactly what I am talking about, they will also quickly identify the parent in their own organization that I will be describing. Baseball, football, soccer, hockey, tennis, volleyball...doesn't matter. Trust me, there are versions of the same people in every youth league sport across the country.
These people make up about 2% of ball park parents. They are extremely serious and extremely focused on the performance of their child and or the others on the team. They are loud, boorish, and can be violent. They have less than complimentary things to say to the officials, coaches, visitors and even their children. You have, no doubt, seen them on CNN, as they are being led away in handcuffs from their child's sporting event.
More often than not, they also have more than one child and are usually unable to keep up with whomever is not on the field. In this case, it was a little girl, about 2 or 3, who I will call "Sally."
Sally's brother was on Scooter's team and his parents set up on the front row of bleachers, by the fence between third and home. Super Mom was dressed in "daisy dukes," a halter top that showed her belly button ring, and wedge sandals. It would have been a cute outfit on a smaller girl, but the muffin top rolling over the top of her shorts made it less than appealing. I will give her credit for moving behind the bleachers to smoke, which both her and her husband seemed to do in shifts. We sat in a never ending cloud of smoke. It did little to deter the mosquitos.
The "chatter" started almost immediately, loud, boardering on unruly. Sally, drew in the dirt with her fingers, unnoticed, and it was not long before she was covered in red clay from head to toe. She had a tiny yellow cast on her left arm, the tiniest one I've ever seen. Most likely an injury sustained as she played, unsupervised, during the regular season.
Sally ran to and fro, in the open space between our field and the next. She picked up things on the ground, and sampled the nachos abandonned by her parents on the end of the bleachers. She ran back and forth, cheese covered chip in each grubby hand. I soon heard the unmistakable sound of a little mouth with too much food to swallow and turned around just in time to see her vomit all over the front of her shirt. She ran, wailing, to her mother, who only looked up from the game long enough to strip the shirt from her body. She ran around shirtless. I watched her nervously. Someone needed to. Anyone could have picked that child up and walked away with her.
A scant 10 minutes later, Sally was at her mother's side again, swaying from side to side, singing "MAH-MEE, I have to TEE TEE." The official made a rather controversial call, and Sally's mom was on her feet, shouting angrily onto the field. Sally swayed from side to side. Everyone in our section knew she had to go, right up until she did. Everyone except her mother, oblivious to puddle on the ground next to her. Obviously embarrased, Sally attempted to climb up into her mother's lap, and only then did Super Mom realize she had wet her pants.
She spanked her all the way to the car.
I looked at my mother. Her eyes told me that we were thinking the same thing.
When Sally and her mother returned, she was running, pulling Sally along by her good arm. "Whad-I miss?! whad-I miss?!" She dropped Sally's hand, and returned to her seat.
There were several bad calls, and the rules seemed to change each time our team was winning.
I watched with amazement as parents around me came unglued. Red faces and throbing neck veins were all around me. All I could think was, 'geez people, these boys are 6. It's not the World Series.' Super Mom became so beligerant, our team was "warned" that further disorderly conduct would result in an automatic out. Sally continued to play in the dirt and eventually curled up in the folding chair her father had vacated, where she fell asleep.
Unfortunately we lost, but Scooter was excited to have all his family come out to cheer him on.
As we left the park, Super Mom was carrying Sally's limp, sleeping body against her shoulder, hissing angrily about filing a complaint with the league and giving someone a piece of her mind.
On the long ride home, my mother said she could tell I wanted to intervene in the Sally situation. She asked what stopped me from saying something. I told her that I'd rather not wind up in the news....you know, "Moody Woman Killed By Crazed Little League Fan."
Now don't get me wrong, I love my nephew. It's the atmosphere of the average, American, Little League baseball park that I abhor.
I know what you are thinking..."Joy, you volunteer at a ball park." The Miracle League park is much different. Everyone is loving, supportive and there to have fun. It was after an ugly incident as a ball park mom when my husband was our son's coach that made me watch my first Miracle League game. I remember watching and thinking, " THIS is what baseball should be."
But I digress....
"Scooter is 6 and is playing for the very first time in the coach-pitch division of his hometown park league
For his first time to ever play a sport, he is surprisingly good. He has played a variety of positions with efficiency, and was chosen from his regular team to play on the All Star team, even over players that had been playing since cap ball. We were all very excited.
I rode with my mother and her husband, about an hour from our hometown to the park, out in the middle of no where. It was everything I remember from my days as a ball park mom....heat, bugs, dirt, crappy bleachers. Even the smell, a mixture of Off, sweat, Alabama red clay, and over-cooked hot dogs, was the same.
The park was your standard "clover" design, four ball fields extending out from a central concession building, that carried your standard ball park fare: Hot Dogs, hamburgers, fries, and nachos.
I will have to say my park has much better nachos. I am not even certain what we received could be defined as "nachos," bland, round, tortilla chips with congealing, canned cheese poured over them. And they were expensive! Nachos at my park (the good kind) are a full dollar cheaper. For what we paid for a plate of nachos, we could have brought them in from Chili's. I thought, "I'm blowing my diet over this?!"
The boys were very excited to be playing in new uniforms and they posed for a team photo before they warmed up. We took our seats at the top of the wooden bleachers, rubbed on (ineffective) bug repellant, and prepared for the game. That is when I identified them....the overly aggressive ball park parent.
People who do not have children, or people who do not have children that play organized team sports will have no concept of what I am about to discuss, so bear with me as best you can.
On the other hand, those who do have children, involved in some sort of team sport, will not only know exactly what I am talking about, they will also quickly identify the parent in their own organization that I will be describing. Baseball, football, soccer, hockey, tennis, volleyball...doesn't matter. Trust me, there are versions of the same people in every youth league sport across the country.
These people make up about 2% of ball park parents. They are extremely serious and extremely focused on the performance of their child and or the others on the team. They are loud, boorish, and can be violent. They have less than complimentary things to say to the officials, coaches, visitors and even their children. You have, no doubt, seen them on CNN, as they are being led away in handcuffs from their child's sporting event.
More often than not, they also have more than one child and are usually unable to keep up with whomever is not on the field. In this case, it was a little girl, about 2 or 3, who I will call "Sally."
Sally's brother was on Scooter's team and his parents set up on the front row of bleachers, by the fence between third and home. Super Mom was dressed in "daisy dukes," a halter top that showed her belly button ring, and wedge sandals. It would have been a cute outfit on a smaller girl, but the muffin top rolling over the top of her shorts made it less than appealing. I will give her credit for moving behind the bleachers to smoke, which both her and her husband seemed to do in shifts. We sat in a never ending cloud of smoke. It did little to deter the mosquitos.
The "chatter" started almost immediately, loud, boardering on unruly. Sally, drew in the dirt with her fingers, unnoticed, and it was not long before she was covered in red clay from head to toe. She had a tiny yellow cast on her left arm, the tiniest one I've ever seen. Most likely an injury sustained as she played, unsupervised, during the regular season.
Sally ran to and fro, in the open space between our field and the next. She picked up things on the ground, and sampled the nachos abandonned by her parents on the end of the bleachers. She ran back and forth, cheese covered chip in each grubby hand. I soon heard the unmistakable sound of a little mouth with too much food to swallow and turned around just in time to see her vomit all over the front of her shirt. She ran, wailing, to her mother, who only looked up from the game long enough to strip the shirt from her body. She ran around shirtless. I watched her nervously. Someone needed to. Anyone could have picked that child up and walked away with her.
A scant 10 minutes later, Sally was at her mother's side again, swaying from side to side, singing "MAH-MEE, I have to TEE TEE." The official made a rather controversial call, and Sally's mom was on her feet, shouting angrily onto the field. Sally swayed from side to side. Everyone in our section knew she had to go, right up until she did. Everyone except her mother, oblivious to puddle on the ground next to her. Obviously embarrased, Sally attempted to climb up into her mother's lap, and only then did Super Mom realize she had wet her pants.
She spanked her all the way to the car.
I looked at my mother. Her eyes told me that we were thinking the same thing.
When Sally and her mother returned, she was running, pulling Sally along by her good arm. "Whad-I miss?! whad-I miss?!" She dropped Sally's hand, and returned to her seat.
There were several bad calls, and the rules seemed to change each time our team was winning.
I watched with amazement as parents around me came unglued. Red faces and throbing neck veins were all around me. All I could think was, 'geez people, these boys are 6. It's not the World Series.' Super Mom became so beligerant, our team was "warned" that further disorderly conduct would result in an automatic out. Sally continued to play in the dirt and eventually curled up in the folding chair her father had vacated, where she fell asleep.
Unfortunately we lost, but Scooter was excited to have all his family come out to cheer him on.
As we left the park, Super Mom was carrying Sally's limp, sleeping body against her shoulder, hissing angrily about filing a complaint with the league and giving someone a piece of her mind.
On the long ride home, my mother said she could tell I wanted to intervene in the Sally situation. She asked what stopped me from saying something. I told her that I'd rather not wind up in the news....you know, "Moody Woman Killed By Crazed Little League Fan."
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day 2009
It's Memorial Day 2009, and while we will be barbequeing and enjoying the day off, we will be taking the time to remember those who fought for our country. I've made memorial flags for the grandfathers and we will be taking them to the cemetary later this afternoon.
Remember:Freedom Isn't Free
Remember:Freedom Isn't Free
Friday, May 22, 2009
Happy Anniversary Baby...
Today is my 10th wedding anniversary!
(I'll post a pic when I can get to a scanner that works)
I woke up this morning with Barry Manilow's "Looks Like We Made It" running through my head. It's funny because sometimes it seems like we've been married forever and sometimes we look at each other and say "wow, can you believe it?" We have been together longer than the sum total of our first marriages combined, and longer than many of our friends marriages.
We had once talked about renewing our vows, including our original wedding party. I had wanted to wear my wedding gown again, but I doubt it would fit now. A party would have been nice, but thanks to the economy, we will be spending a quiet evening at home instead.
I have to laugh, as thunderstorms are in the forecast today, just as they were 10 years ago.
Two hours before our ceremony, the sky turned black and it rained relentlessly until 45 minutes before we walked down the aisle. Too late to take any photos outdoors. Attendance was sparse; we had a lot of left-over cake. The next day at church, (yes, we post-poned our honeymoon to spend our first day as husband and wife in church...our Sunday school class enjoyed cake with their coffee ) many people came up to tell us they "would have come, but it rained." I had laughed and replied "that's okay, we got married anyway."
But it was truly symbolic. The first of many storms we have weathered.
I'm told that if you can make it through the first 10 years, the rest get easier.
(of course none of those people were my parents, my step-siblings, or former in-laws...all who divorced after the 17, 25, & 30 year mark, but I guess there are exceptions to every rule, eh?)
I guess that makes sense. Couples go through a lot in 10 years time, and we are no exception.
In the first 12 months of our marriage alone, Darling Hubby had 2 total-loss car accidents and walked away unscathed; I dealt with an apendectomy, infertility, PCOD, and a hysterectomy.
In the years that followed we have been through 6 cars, a new mortgage, a refinance, a major custody fight, diabetes, alternative school, O.D.D, juvenile detention, and boot camp, clinical depression, a baseball-sized breast lump (benign), declining health of our parents,a land despute with a utilty company, the death of 2 grandparents, hypertension,2 clothes dryers, facing and overcoming financial ruin, acne, a year of car-pooling in the lone car, A.D.D., obesity, 3 bleeding ulcers, 8 lawn mowers, sleep apnea, and a stroke scare. There was even a one week seperation about five years ago.
I'm sure there is more, but this is all that comes to mind.
And I am sure there is more to come.
But just as the couple in the old adage about the wedding bell, we remember, nothing is too hard when we pull together.
Maybe I will fit in my wedding dress again, in time to renew our vows on our 20th anniversary.
The next decade begins today.
Happy Anniversary Baby...I've got you on my mind.
(I'll post a pic when I can get to a scanner that works)
I woke up this morning with Barry Manilow's "Looks Like We Made It" running through my head. It's funny because sometimes it seems like we've been married forever and sometimes we look at each other and say "wow, can you believe it?" We have been together longer than the sum total of our first marriages combined, and longer than many of our friends marriages.
We had once talked about renewing our vows, including our original wedding party. I had wanted to wear my wedding gown again, but I doubt it would fit now. A party would have been nice, but thanks to the economy, we will be spending a quiet evening at home instead.
I have to laugh, as thunderstorms are in the forecast today, just as they were 10 years ago.
Two hours before our ceremony, the sky turned black and it rained relentlessly until 45 minutes before we walked down the aisle. Too late to take any photos outdoors. Attendance was sparse; we had a lot of left-over cake. The next day at church, (yes, we post-poned our honeymoon to spend our first day as husband and wife in church...our Sunday school class enjoyed cake with their coffee ) many people came up to tell us they "would have come, but it rained." I had laughed and replied "that's okay, we got married anyway."
But it was truly symbolic. The first of many storms we have weathered.
I'm told that if you can make it through the first 10 years, the rest get easier.
(of course none of those people were my parents, my step-siblings, or former in-laws...all who divorced after the 17, 25, & 30 year mark, but I guess there are exceptions to every rule, eh?)
I guess that makes sense. Couples go through a lot in 10 years time, and we are no exception.
In the first 12 months of our marriage alone, Darling Hubby had 2 total-loss car accidents and walked away unscathed; I dealt with an apendectomy, infertility, PCOD, and a hysterectomy.
In the years that followed we have been through 6 cars, a new mortgage, a refinance, a major custody fight, diabetes, alternative school, O.D.D, juvenile detention, and boot camp, clinical depression, a baseball-sized breast lump (benign), declining health of our parents,a land despute with a utilty company, the death of 2 grandparents, hypertension,2 clothes dryers, facing and overcoming financial ruin, acne, a year of car-pooling in the lone car, A.D.D., obesity, 3 bleeding ulcers, 8 lawn mowers, sleep apnea, and a stroke scare. There was even a one week seperation about five years ago.
I'm sure there is more, but this is all that comes to mind.
And I am sure there is more to come.
But just as the couple in the old adage about the wedding bell, we remember, nothing is too hard when we pull together.
Maybe I will fit in my wedding dress again, in time to renew our vows on our 20th anniversary.
The next decade begins today.
Happy Anniversary Baby...I've got you on my mind.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Tweedley Deedley Dee, Tweet, Tweet, Tweet-Tweet!
I have just learned that I am, once again, behind the times as far as technology is concerned.
I don't Twitter.
Or is that Tweet?
I never really thought it'd matter, but over the past few months, weird little emails have been coming to my inbox telling me that a more technically savy friend wants to "follow" me.
Funny thing is, these same friends know how "technically challenged" that I am, so they should know I can't "tweet."
I had a similar situation with Facebook. While I was able to Myspace with some proficiency, it became time consuming. I had set up a Facebook account, only to find I didn't have enough time to manage it too. Daily, I receive messages that friends and acquaintances are adding me to their Facebook Friends. Unfortunately, I don't remember the password, so I can't do anything about it. Right now, I have a ton of people waiting for me to befriend them, probably thinking I'm a snob. Sorry y'all...just challenged.
I will say this, I at least know what Twitter is.
I had to laugh at Sunday's "Desperate Housewives" episode when characher Tom Scavo laments on not knowing what Twitter was. My mother and I view DH together and call one another during commercial breaks to discuss. I held my phone in my hand in the upcoming commercial break, eagerly anticipating her call to ask me about Twitter, but that call didnt come. I forgot...she watches Oprah.
I just signed up for Plinky about a month ago...it seems to be kinda like Twitter. Someone posts a question every day (or prompt) and you go on the site and answer it. I'm "JoyInAL" there. People "follow" you there too.
The whole "following" thing kinda creeps me out a bit. But I guess it would, having dealt with a stalker. (THAT is a story for another day). I understand that your actual friends wanting to follow you, but people that don't know you? That's just odd to me. Why would anyone that doesn't know me care what I was doing?
So I went to Twitter, signed up and sent my first "tweet." I'm Joy_in_AL there too.
Tweet me!
I don't Twitter.
Or is that Tweet?
I never really thought it'd matter, but over the past few months, weird little emails have been coming to my inbox telling me that a more technically savy friend wants to "follow" me.
Funny thing is, these same friends know how "technically challenged" that I am, so they should know I can't "tweet."
I had a similar situation with Facebook. While I was able to Myspace with some proficiency, it became time consuming. I had set up a Facebook account, only to find I didn't have enough time to manage it too. Daily, I receive messages that friends and acquaintances are adding me to their Facebook Friends. Unfortunately, I don't remember the password, so I can't do anything about it. Right now, I have a ton of people waiting for me to befriend them, probably thinking I'm a snob. Sorry y'all...just challenged.
I will say this, I at least know what Twitter is.
I had to laugh at Sunday's "Desperate Housewives" episode when characher Tom Scavo laments on not knowing what Twitter was. My mother and I view DH together and call one another during commercial breaks to discuss. I held my phone in my hand in the upcoming commercial break, eagerly anticipating her call to ask me about Twitter, but that call didnt come. I forgot...she watches Oprah.
I just signed up for Plinky about a month ago...it seems to be kinda like Twitter. Someone posts a question every day (or prompt) and you go on the site and answer it. I'm "JoyInAL" there. People "follow" you there too.
The whole "following" thing kinda creeps me out a bit. But I guess it would, having dealt with a stalker. (THAT is a story for another day). I understand that your actual friends wanting to follow you, but people that don't know you? That's just odd to me. Why would anyone that doesn't know me care what I was doing?
So I went to Twitter, signed up and sent my first "tweet." I'm Joy_in_AL there too.
Tweet me!
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Hey Miss Garofalo...are these folks racist too?
Actress Janine Garofalo has decided that all those who participated in the Tax Day Tea Parties were "a bunch of teabagging rednecks," adding "this is about hating a black man in the White House. This is racism straight up."
Carlton CJ Williams, who sang "God Bless America" at the Cleveland, Ohio Tea Party
Racist rednecks that hate a black man in the White House huh?
Well, Miss Garofalo, how do you explain these tea party attendees:
Carlton CJ Williams, who sang "God Bless America" at the Cleveland, Ohio Tea Party
These fellows at the Tea Party in Raleigh, North Carolina. (Hey, that's a Southern state!)
How about we go a little further South ...
Here is Huntsville, ALABAMA (Isn't Alabama the cradle of redneck civilization?)
I bet Alan Keyes didn't realize he'd be labeled a "racist redneck" when he agreed to be the KEYNOTE speaker at the Tea Party in Washington, DC.
Miss Garofalo seems to be confused. It seems that American's of all races are concerned bout being Taxed Enough Already.
A neighbor of mine is Vietnamese. Her take on the whole situation? "I've already fled from a communist country one time in my life."
Just because Americans don't want to be taxed into debt, or be forced into socialism does not make them either racist or redneck.
Taxation has NOTHING to do with the pedigree of our president.
All I can say is that I HOPE that I have some CHANGE left in 4 years.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
I Witnessed a Miracle Today
I had to blog on this because I was taught part of recieving a miracle is sharing the miracle with others.
It was overcast and a little sprinkly when I reached the Miracle League park today. I grabbed my umbrella, not really sure if I'd need it and made my way to the souvenir stand.
The rain picked up and we had to delay our first game. After about 30 minutes the rain stopped and we squeegied the field and the Braves vs. the Cardinals game began. We were about mid way through the 2nd inning when the bottom dropped out. Everyone dashed for the dugouts.
It rained hard for about 15 minutes and players started leaving. Though it has a drain system, the hard rain was too much for it and the low-lying home team dugout where several Braves waited flooded. One of the Braves, a player I will call C., is wheelchair bound. Now this is no ordinary wheelchair, it's an electric wheelchair custom made just for him. It costs more than my car. The coach had manuvered him to the only dry spot in the dugout. I grabbed my umbrella and made my way to the dugout to help sheild C. from the rain.
Over my past four years with the Miracle League, I've learned quite a bit about the costs associated with caring for both physically and mentally challenged individuals. I don't know how they do it. I do know that insurance companies do not pay nearly enough for the care of those with special needs and am amazed that these parents are making it. I thank the Lord continually that my children are healthy. But I can say, I've seen that because of these costs , many of our team parents do without so that their children can have the best care possible.
Such is the case with C.'s mom. When the time came to get a new vehicle, she could not afford a van and had to opt for a pick-up truck in order to move C. and his chair around. After one unfortunate trip through the rain where the tarp covering the chair blew off, shorting out the chair, she learned not to venture out in the rain.
She had made a tough call today, bringing C. out when the weather was suspect. But C. loves coming to the park so much, she chanced it only to be stranded in the rain. We all tried to think of ways to help, but she had been in this situation before. She kept saying that they would just have to wait it out. When it was suggested that she call the assisted living facility he lived in,nearly an hour East of the park, to see if they could send for him. This made him very upset and another coach tried to soothe him as she got on the phone. She said, "it's that or pray for the rain to stop." I said "well, I guess we should do that."
I stood over C. shielding him from the blowing rain with my umbrella, while she made the call. I might not be very helpful at much else, but the least I could do was pray. As she spoke to someone at the facility, I bowed my head and prayed silently that God would stop the rain, just long enough to get C. back home. I said "Amen" as she was getting the word that they had no one to help.
That is when it happened.
The rain, that had been blowing in on us from all sides of the dugout, stopped as if turning off a faucet!
We all looked at each other in disbelief! Did that just happen?!
We moved into high-gear. She retrieved the truck and drove it right up to the dugout. We strapped C. in the front seat and everyone went to work trying to cover the chair to keep it dry on the drive. Then we took a minute to thank the Lord for our little miracle and sent them on the way before the rain started up again.
It's been an hour and a half, and I hear the rain again.
I have faith they made it.
It was overcast and a little sprinkly when I reached the Miracle League park today. I grabbed my umbrella, not really sure if I'd need it and made my way to the souvenir stand.
The rain picked up and we had to delay our first game. After about 30 minutes the rain stopped and we squeegied the field and the Braves vs. the Cardinals game began. We were about mid way through the 2nd inning when the bottom dropped out. Everyone dashed for the dugouts.
It rained hard for about 15 minutes and players started leaving. Though it has a drain system, the hard rain was too much for it and the low-lying home team dugout where several Braves waited flooded. One of the Braves, a player I will call C., is wheelchair bound. Now this is no ordinary wheelchair, it's an electric wheelchair custom made just for him. It costs more than my car. The coach had manuvered him to the only dry spot in the dugout. I grabbed my umbrella and made my way to the dugout to help sheild C. from the rain.
Over my past four years with the Miracle League, I've learned quite a bit about the costs associated with caring for both physically and mentally challenged individuals. I don't know how they do it. I do know that insurance companies do not pay nearly enough for the care of those with special needs and am amazed that these parents are making it. I thank the Lord continually that my children are healthy. But I can say, I've seen that because of these costs , many of our team parents do without so that their children can have the best care possible.
Such is the case with C.'s mom. When the time came to get a new vehicle, she could not afford a van and had to opt for a pick-up truck in order to move C. and his chair around. After one unfortunate trip through the rain where the tarp covering the chair blew off, shorting out the chair, she learned not to venture out in the rain.
She had made a tough call today, bringing C. out when the weather was suspect. But C. loves coming to the park so much, she chanced it only to be stranded in the rain. We all tried to think of ways to help, but she had been in this situation before. She kept saying that they would just have to wait it out. When it was suggested that she call the assisted living facility he lived in,nearly an hour East of the park, to see if they could send for him. This made him very upset and another coach tried to soothe him as she got on the phone. She said, "it's that or pray for the rain to stop." I said "well, I guess we should do that."
I stood over C. shielding him from the blowing rain with my umbrella, while she made the call. I might not be very helpful at much else, but the least I could do was pray. As she spoke to someone at the facility, I bowed my head and prayed silently that God would stop the rain, just long enough to get C. back home. I said "Amen" as she was getting the word that they had no one to help.
That is when it happened.
The rain, that had been blowing in on us from all sides of the dugout, stopped as if turning off a faucet!
We all looked at each other in disbelief! Did that just happen?!
We moved into high-gear. She retrieved the truck and drove it right up to the dugout. We strapped C. in the front seat and everyone went to work trying to cover the chair to keep it dry on the drive. Then we took a minute to thank the Lord for our little miracle and sent them on the way before the rain started up again.
It's been an hour and a half, and I hear the rain again.
I have faith they made it.
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