T-ball and M&Ms

The warm breezes and smell of fresh cut grass each spring brought with it the sign-up for spring sports. My oldest, Christopher, had decided to play baseball. We practiced batting with him in the front yard as Matt circled the perimeter, watching in his way. To look at him you would think he was oblivious to the world around him, but we knew better. If you glanced his way on occasion you could catch his quick scan of the situation. There was, after all, a ball that would take flight - and we know how much he loved a good trajectory.

On the day of the sign-up, as we sat on one of the picnic table benches near the door at the elementary school, awaiting our turn to complete the sign-in process, we were taken by surprise when Matt revealed he also wanted to play ball. It wasn't a clear "mom, I want to play", it was more a change in his facial expressions, his eyes darting from his big brother to me, then back to his brother. A combination of gestures, simple words and longing looks suggested Matt really, really wanted to play ball too. I didn't know what to do. Christopher and Matt are 2 and a half years apart in age and Matt was just a little guy - not old enough to play baseball.

I was trying to explain this to Matt when a tall, young man walked up. He had witnessed my failing attempts to console my son and invited Matt to join his new T-ball team. His name was Dennis. Dennis didn't know Matt - no one at Christopher's school did because Matt attended a different school, out of district, to receive special services for his disability. I explained this to Dennis and added that I didn't know if he would be allowed to play. Dennis asked, "Can he run?", I nodded my head. "Then he can play!".

Thus began the T-ball years.

Step 1 - Teach Matt how to hit.
Silly parents that we are, we assumed that what we needed to teach Matt was how to hit the ball. We had Matt stand, bat in hand, and tossed him a ball. As the ball left my husband's hand, Matt turned his head as far away as possible so he could view the incoming trajectory out of the corner of his eye, squinting. Smack!
Cool! Matt can hit. We were ready for T-ball! We were so naive.

We felt sure Matt would hit the ball and run like the wind at his first game. He had been marking days off the calendar all week and was jumping - literally - with excitement come the big day. He ran toward the ball field, proudly wearing his game shirt. As he awaited his turn he would march back and forth, keeping a good distance between his team mates and himself. Sometimes he walked in small circles, talking to himself and darting his eyes toward the T when someone would step up to bat.

We watched from the bleachers as each player stood at home-plate and tried to hit the ball off the "T". We were anxious to see Matt play - to be involved in a TEAM sport, something the experts told me he would never do.

Finally, it was Matt's turn at bat. He swung . . . and hit the "T". He swung again - swish, nothing but air. Swung again - hitting the "T" and small portion of the ball, just enough to knock it off the stand. It began to roll forward, and yells of "run" arouse from the crowd. Matt ran to first base, turned, and to everyone's surprise, ran right back to home-plate, where he was pronounce "out". Oops . . . we forgot to teach Matt how to run the bases!

Step 2 - Teach Matt to how to run the bases.
You hit the ball, then you run here, then here, then here, then home. The look on his face said it all - "are you nuts?" O.K., second attempt. The bat hits the ball, the ball goes flying and you run from base to base and try to beat the ball to home plate. The look on his face? "My parents are loons". Third attempt. We need some bases. We grabbed some typing-paper, numbered them in large black numbers, 1,2,3, and one for "HOME". Then we placed each sheet on the ground in a diamond, each resting on the grass where a base should be. We had Matt stand at home-plate, gave him a bat and pitched a ball toward him. Smack! To the calls of "drop the bat" and "run to #1", Matt dropped the bat and ran to number 1, then turned and ran back to "HOME".

This would not be easy. We took him by the hand and walked him from base to base against his will. This will never work! You can't just pull him from base to base until he gets it. His will was probably stronger than mine - so we could do this all day and in the end, he still would not run the bases. Suddenly, I got an idea, M&Ms. Bribery!

Sure enough, Matt would run from base to base to receive a candy reward. M&Ms were his favorite candy - especially the color green. Standing at second base with a handful of M&Ms brought about the desired behavior - running from first base directly to second. After several successful trips around the diamond we were ready for the next game. On game day, I was taking no chances - we bought more M&Ms.

We told Matt he could have the candy after the game if he could run the bases. The next time Matt was up to bat he hit the ball and ran to first - safe! On the next hit Matt ran to second - safe again! On the next hit Matt ran to third - safe? Oh no, he's out!. Go back to the bench. Yeah, right.

Nothing could keep him from his mission to complete the run. No one could make him leave the field until he touched that plate. Game play was halted as we tried to get Matt off the field. We had taught him to go in order, 1, 2, 3, home. He couldn't bear anyone trying to interrupt the sequence. NO, no, no. His protest was obvious to all as he laid down on the ground and wouldn't move. By that time, my husband, Tom, had gotten down to the field. He picked him up and carried him off the field toward me, my hands open to reveal the precious M&Ms.

So - we needed to work on this game a little. Over time Matt figured out that even if he didn't make it home, we would still be near the bench with M&Ms in hand awaiting his arrival. His smile upon seeing his M&Ms was precious, so triumphant, regardless of the score.

M&Ms. Who would have thought that a simple bribe of candy could become a communication tool? We started using M&Ms as bribes for several teaching moments - because they worked! Don't worry, his teeth were fine, not a cavity until his 22nd year.

There's more to the story - after all, there's more to T-ball than just hitting the ball and running the bases (we should know!). There's the outfield. Could he catch? Could he chase a ball? Yes and yes, . . . well, kind of. He would go get the ball and throw it (not much power, but dead-on trajectory). Alas, his poor team mates could never figure out where or to whom he was throwing the ball because, after all, he looked sideways, out the corners of his eyes. Then again, no one else was a superstar either - it's one of the joys of T-ball. Ah yes, the comic relief of T-ball.

The children of T-ball were all young and just learning the game. A fly ball with a great chance of success to be caught could just as easily be dropped or left to fall where it may if a plane flew overhead. Every child in the outfield would jerk their head skyward to watch a gleaming plane write white-cloud lines against the blue of the sky. Even runners would stop and watch. A child in the outfield could just as easily not notice a ball because a beautiful butterfly just happened to be near, the fluttering of its wings much more exciting than a baseball rolling in the grass. So Matt's behaviors were taken in stride, he just didn't seem all that different when viewed in the light of T-ball.

The team went on to become champions and each child received a shiny gold plastic trophy to commemorate the season. For Matt, it was a badge of honor - he had played T-ball. For us, it meant something too - MATT HAD PLAYED T-BALL! He beat the odds. He chose to actually be around others - at a distant - but still close and still his decision. The second season brought another wonderful round of butterflies in the outfield and planes overhead and another great score card. A writer from the local newspaper came to watch the game, watch Matt play, and interview me (he later won a writing award for his story on Matt). As I told him, and am telling you now, always leave room for hope. Never give-up on your child. Don't listen to those that claim "he can't" and listen instead to your heart.

Remember, everything can be learned, everything. Sometimes you just need M&Ms.