Six, and Kickball

I had the best of intentions. I really did.

With his 6th (sixth!) birthday a few months down the road, Andres made it clear that he wanted a baseball party. I cringed when I heard this, because baseball parties for kids just aren't that much fun--people stand around waiting for a turn to hit, nobody ever makes a play in the field, and someone is bound to cry. These are givens.

But the problem with a 5-year old requesting a baseball party is that the 5-year old expects such a party, since he is finally aware that the party is supposed to be for him, not for his parents and his parents' friends. This represents a big shift in the party-planning dynamic. And not one that benefits me, by any stretch.

So Andres wanted a baseball party. I wasn't too keen on the idea. Why not soccer? Or the wonderfully generic "sports" party? These would all have been so easy. I was relieved when Natalia was able to talk him down to a kickball party, to be held at Auburndale Cove. This, I thought, I could manage.

But once again, I was reminded that perception is different than reality.

The day of the party came, and I was prepared. We had bought bases and multiple kickballs. I had even concocted some sort of agenda for the 2 hours--first free play, then some kickball-related contests, then The Game, then cake and goodbyes. I also had a bunch of contingency plans in case anything really went awry.

The free play part was easy. Kids had no problem playing nicely with each other and inventing interesting games. I should have stuck with that.

Soon it was time for kickball, though. I gathered everyone together and divided them up into two teams, paying some attention to existing friendships, sibling relationships, and gender equality. I gave a quick rundown of the rules--basically, each team would have two turns at bat, and everyone would kick once during each turn. I thought that would be a good way to make sure everyone had some opportunities to be a hero. See? I can do this. Piece of cake.

Andres stepped up to the plate. He looked thrilled--the leadoff kicker, surely about to set a good tone for his team. And as I watched his kick sail through the air and kick up dirt 20 yards from home, I thought that things would actually work out.

Then I saw him run the bases. And I realized that these kids only had the foggiest notion of how to play kickball.

Andres treated the bases--the actual bases, which we had purchased for this distinct occasion--as mere suggestions. He ran towards first, but then cut a generous bend around it as he headed towards second base. And as Andres was (literally) circling the bases, the defense hardly seemed concerned--or, in fact, informed about the role they should be playing in trying to stop him. The ball did not move crisply towards his position. It really didn't move that much at all, and Andres roared home with the game's first run, without having touched any bases.

Before long, I had official confirmation that (a) the kids really just wanted to kick, (b) there were no rules in baserunning, and (c) nobody knew what an out was. Well, this was just great. Oh, and another thing--though they had limited understanding of the rules that governed the game, each team was bent on winning.

It was a slow game. Before long, kids were complaining that they wanted to kick, nobody was making any plays in the field, and two kids were crying. I was a total, utter, complete failure as kickball organizer. I may as well have just thrown a baseball party.

Having achieved a spectacular level of failure, I eventually called it quits and told everyone that it was time for cake. Eating dessert would surely be a more manageable, less competitive task for the kids. Right?

Would cake save the day?

Losing hurts, even in kickball. And there were a lot of long faces around the picnic table as Andres' cake appeared. I feared that my attempt to provide the best possible kickball experience had inadvertently ruined the day. But soon enough, the juice boxes and cake worked their magic, and everyone was smiling again.

Six years old! How did that happen?

Two old friends sharing a bench, and a laugh.

Andres hasn't started talking about next year's party yet. But he's a planner, like Natalia, so these conversations can't be too far away. What will he want for his 7th (yikes, he's getting old) birthday party? Extreme sports? Arts and crafts? Basketball? Ultimate?

I've learned my lesson, though. Stick to the basics if I can. And then, if a kickball party is really what he wants, just give him and his friends a couple of balls and get out of the way.