There’s a tradition for graduating seniors at the end of the season: jars are filled with the dirt or grass (or both) from the spot on the field where they played. So this is the dirt from the spot between second base and third base where my kid played shortstop for the past four years. Varsity all four years, team captain, All League…all of this, and more, while completing a full IB diploma, managing a student team in a nationally recognized environmental creek project and maintaining a 4.4 GPA…that’s some damn meaningful dirt in a mason jar.
I didn’t cry during senior night or prom but hand my kid a jar of dirt (and say a bunch of nice things about how rad she is) during the end of season party tonight and I can no longer make such bold statements. Turns out there IS crying in baseball. I mean softball. (I’m so proud of you, kiddo. <3)
