Somewhere along the course of the summer our boy picked up a glove and a ball and started throwing it around with anyone who would accomodate him.

He started following the Phillies (Go Phillies!) and asked for a jersey and a cap. And he still wanted to throw the ball. We read this book on vacation. And he still wanted to throw the ball. And then he decided he wanted to try baseball. Play on a fall ball team and check it out.

How could we not let him?

Turns out he loves it.

He loves practice. He loves watching games. And he still loves throwing the ball in the front yard.

Poor guy had to wait weeks for his first game (darn rain), and when last Saturday rolled around, he was so ready.

Ready to be part of it all.

When Callum first started practice, his coach got his name wrong a couple of times. This is not that unusual. His name is unusual, after all. Neel pointed out that this was a fresh start in a way. Nobody on this team knew him, and he could be whoever he wanted to be.

The next night at practice his coach kindly said, "I'm sorry son, I forgot your name."
"It's Callum, but you can call me Cal."

Cal, huh? Somehow it suits him. And it works, out there on the ballfield. Baseball suits him too. I can't shake the feeling that we may have seen our last lacrosse game.