Knocking Dad Off the Bucket

In the distant recesses of my memory, I recall a time when J.P. was 5 or 6 and I was coaching him in the WNSL Wookie League.  It's a coach pitch (5 pitches)/tee ball league.  When I practiced with him individually, with the team or during games, I normally sat on a bucket turned upside down and pitched to him.

Somewhere along the line, I started encouraging him to "knock me off the bucket."  In other words, I wanted him to hit the ball back up the middle.  If he did, I make a big production out of falling off the bucket, into the dirt.  He loved it.  Over and over again, he would try to knock me off the bucket.  He did it, too, on the baseball field at Rose Park and on fields 4 and 5 at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ.  Good times.

Well, Joe is 4 now, the youngest player on the "Junior Dodgers," and I, of course, am the head coach. Just as was at the case with J.P., I pitch to Joe and his teammates, in practice and games, while sitting on a blue Lowe's bucket, placed upside down in the dirt, ten feet or so from home plate.  And I love it, still.

In our game Saturday, the first time Joe was up to bat, he hammered the first pitched right back at me.  It was a line drive, low, hit directly at the bucket.  As it caromed off the bucket, I really didn't have enough time to react.  Stunned, I fell off the bucket into the dirt, as Joe ran to first base, an ear splitting grin on his 4 year old face.  I jumped up, brushed my self off and ran to first base to give him five, heart bursting with pride.

"I knocked you off the bucket!!"  he said.

You sure did, Joe.  And I love your for it.