No words unspoken

Jake is at the age where I can sit and have long conversations with him, without him getting bored and drifting off. We can talk about anything and everything and we usually do. Last night, we sat outside and talked about Jesus, baseball, and dirt. In that order. He seems to know just what I need to hear at the right moment, and Jesus, baseball, and dirt were the perfect topics to get my mind in the right place.

Earlier, both boys were playing ball, and Jake got angry that he couldn't play it his way. I told him he had to follow the rules and he wasn't having it. He threw himself on the ground and pouted. I yelled at him. I sent him inside. I was wrong. I shouldn't have yelled, I should have explained why it is important to follow the rules and take turns, even though I have told him that before. He was looking to me for guidance, seeing how far he could push me, and I took the bait. I was wrong.

I felt like such a failure. A while later, Brady was off chasing his shadow around the bases. Through the sliding glass door I could see Jake sitting on the couch. He was sad. So was I. I opened the door and asked if he would like to come back outside. He gave me a little grin and walked over and held my hand as we went outside. Brady had his fill of playing and went inside. So, it was just me and Jake. I went and got us a few cups of lemonade and we sat down in the big chairs. We stared out at the field and talked.

I don't remember all the words we said to each other. The only words that stick out are the ones we said first, the ones that meant the most. I leaned over to him, held his hand and said, "I'm sorry son." He looked back at me, and with that classic Jake grin said, "I'm sorry too Daddy."

And then it was Jesus, baseball, and dirt...