so, the day has come

So, the day has come that Iris Uber Alles has left the cozy, familiar environs of her mother's funky taste (imagine a shabby, leopard-print upholstered conversation pit littered with novels, old travel guides, snoozing cats, martini glasses with lipstick prints and sippy cups with dregs of chocolate milk. That's what Iris's babyhood and toddlerhood with me felt like) to enter mainstream America. She has joined the Little League after learning of its existence at school.

I was not in favor of this, but I wasn't actively opposed, either. My own aesthetic taste didn't seem like a good enough reason to squash Iris's wish. My laziness did, though, and I told the Sober Husband that if he wanted to be the Softball Parent, he could sign Iris up for the Little League. (Of course, who has to pick her up at practice every week, hauling poor Lola behind? Hint: it's not the official Softball Parent).

Personally, I hate baseball and its spawn, softball. Growing up, whenever I visited my grandparents in the summer, endless Red Sox games were droning on in the background. All I learned from this was that watching baseball on T.V. was extremely boring and that although the Red Sox normally lose, everyone still watches. In high school, I found playing softball in gym classes boring, so much waiting around. In college, a friend took me to what should have been an exciting and scintillating event: a Red Sox game at Fenway, where we had skybox seats and Roger Clemens was pitching. I don't remember who the Sox played; I only remember that it went on and on and on, and it was so frigging cold up there in the skybox, and somehow, oddly enough, we didn't have any alcohol to drink. I had to be polite and feign enjoyment as indeed this should have been a treat for any normal person, but it was oh so wasted on me. (Now basketball, that is another story. I once saw the Celtics play at the Boston Garden back in the Larry Bird glory days, and that was a joy. And soccer, there's a fun sport to play AND watch).

In my first post-college job, working at an NPR affiliate, the dreaded softball/baseball demon raised its ugly head again. Some kind of asinine league of workplace softball teams was formed (why couldn't it have been a bowling team? Then we could have had cool shirts and nachos!), and the news director commanded me to join it. I refused (as I said to my ex, "Part of not being in high school is that no one can make me play softball"), but the nagging went on. I did drop by one game in progress for a while (I was with work friends who insisted on stopping by), which was a negative experience (the hated news director made a weird and offensive sexual remark about the woman up at bat, which strengthened my resolve never to pick up a bat or glove again).

Thankfully both my husbands were never baseball fans. My ex's best friend for a long time was obsessed with baseball and constantly yammering about the ideal of a perfect game (which I gather is one where nothing happens) and how baseball is the Platonic ideal of a sport and the ex used to humor him and join in those conversations, but that's as far as it went. Sitting through a boring conversation takes up less time than sitting through a baseball game.

But now Iris has joined the Little League, and we're being forced roughly into the baseball culture. THERE ARE FIVE FREAKING SOFTBALL EVENTS SCHEDULED FOR THIS LAST WEEK: INCLUDING FOUR DAYS IN A ROW!!! Four days in a row! FOUR DAYS IN A ROW! Have we joined the Little League Army???

On Monday, there was practice (which ran late!!! with poor Lola whining and pulling at my hand begging to go home). On Friday, there was a party to decorate a float, and allegedly there was to be pizza and cookies (I do not know what occurred at this event, as neither Anton nor Iris Uber Alles was forthcoming, but I heard a variety of remarks on the theme that Iris didn't get a cookie, Iris didn't get pizza, the cookies got put away...). On Saturday almost all the day was taken up with the opening ceremonies for Little League of San Francisco, with a parade, speeches, barbecue, etc... Iris Uber Alles got her baseball visor autographed by Mayor Newsom, and unlike her Newsom-bashing mother, has declared Gavin to be "cool!" and ignored her mother's cohort who inquired, "How much product was he wearing in his hair?" (The mayor is famed for his overly-oiled pompadour as much as for his girlfriend/wife problems). Today we had the first game, and then tomorrow it's back to practice. Will it never end???

I missed the opening day ceremonies, as I was escorting Lola to a little acquaintance's fourth birthday celebration (and oh how the little celebrant's two gay fathers slaved over this party). Anton reported being cold and hearing very dull speeches. I intended to skip today's game, as I was feeling under the weather AND the weather was horrendous, but that would have been too selfish and lazy. It turns out that at the field where our games will occur, there is a lot of dirt... dirt which doesn't innocently lie there, but dirt which is constantly being blown into the eyes of the proud parents and grandparents by the cruel winds. I've gone through years of little kid soccer games without ever being so physically miserable as I was today, in the cold with the dirt constantly hitting me in the face. Inquisitive, undersupervised dogs kept sticking their snouts up through the slats of the tiny bleachers and poking and licking at me (only I seemed to attract this attention, which was not entirely unwelcome as it provided a diversion. The attraction must have been the eau de cat clinging to my hooded sweatshirt, which I believe Al napped on yesterday). Similarly a coach's little girl was pretending to be a dog and kept licking Anton.

Anyhow, Iris Uber Alles is enjoying herself, and I'm having to attempt to hold my tongue. I've long believed that parents should not censor and proscribe a young child's taste but should humor the child without slamming something the child loves. I find it so painful when parents are ridiculing children's culture in front of the children, especially since the children are usually left tongue-tied. I hate Barney as much as the next person, but it's horrible to see the face of a Barney-loving child as his parents bash the wretched purple saccharine of it all. I've done fairly well at this over the years, with one exception: Iris, just turned five then, had purchased, with her own allowance money, a Bratz book about a beauty sleepover, which she implored her father to read to her. Hearing her father intone, in his deep bass voice, "That's a kicking make-over!" caused me to go into hysterics, and sadly Iris never asked us to read the book to her again. She loved it, and I ruined it for her with my (accidental, uncontrollable) laughter.

So yes, I am trying to rise to the occasion. I fully realize that it is I who is out of step with mainstream culture, where most people love softball, baseball, and all the associated rituals and products. It would be easier to be graceful about it all if there weren't events occurring four days in a row (excuse me, Little League, I do have a life to conduct which is not exclusively softball themed) and if it weren't for the dirt flying into my face. Why couldn't Iris take up sumo wrestling? Now there's a sport I can't get enough of watching.