Within seconds of taking our seats, Grant was cheering and clapping very enthusiastically. His elation spilled over and he rewarded everyone around him with a hug.
If you asked me exactly when we discovered Grant passionately loved the sport of baseball, I would say I can hardly remember a time when he didn't love it. Grant was not quite a year old when a game on TV first caught his attention. His face lit up and he began to jump wildly in his jumperoo.
He has been baseball's biggest fan ever since.
It was a quiet Sunday afternoon game, with few in attendance... making it a perfect time for the Mayes family to explore the stadium and watch the game.
Wesley enjoyed all the action as well. You can definitely say the Mayes family is a baseball family.
Aaron and Grandpa Mayes took the boys near the dugout to see the game up close for a few minutes. Soon the boys were proud owners of their very own baseballs, thanks to the team bat boy.
Grant and Wesley held their new prize possession very tightly the rest of the game (and for the rest of the day).
At the end of the game there was an invitation for children to run the bases. I wasn't sure how Grant would handle it, but after just a few paces onto the field, Grant broke away from Aaron and began to round the bases like a pro. He even gave Homer, the mascot, a big high five!
Baseball Is by Greg Hall
Baseball is grass, chalk, and dirt displayed the same yet differently
In every park that has ever heard the words play ball.
In every park that has ever heard the words play ball.
Baseball is a passion that bonds and divides all those who know it.
Baseball is a pair of hands stained with newsprint,
A set of eyes squinting to read a boxscore,
A brow creased in an attempt to recreate a three-hour game
From an inch square block of type.
Baseball is the hat I wear to mow the lawn.
Baseball is a simple game of catch
and the never-ending search for the perfect knuckleball.
Baseball is Willie vs Mickey, Gibson vs Koufax, and Buddy Biancalana vs the odds.
Baseball links Kansan and Missourian, American and Japanese,
But most of all father and son.
Baseball is the scent of spring,
The unmistakable sound of a double down the line,
And the face of a 10-year-old emerging from a pile of bodies
With a worthless yet priceless foul ball.
Baseball is a language of very simple words that tell unbelievably magic tales.
Baseball is three brothers in the same uniform on the same team for one brief summer
Captured forever in a black and white photo on a table by the couch.
Baseball is a glove on a shelf, oiled and tightly wrapped,
Slumbering through the stark winter months.
Baseball is a breast pocket bulging with a transistor radio.
Baseball is the reason there are transistor radios.
Baseball is a voice in a box describing men you've never met,
In a place you've never been,
Doing things you'll never have the chance to do.
Baseball is a dream that you never really give up on.
Baseball is precious.
Baseball is timeless.
Baseball is forever.
