When the Moment came, we were leading in the bottom of the sixth inning by one run with two outs, two strikes, and the bases loaded. Griffin stepped up to the plate, as he had for the past two seasons—20 games and 90 innings, but who’s counting?—clutching the bat a little higher than I thought he should. But this, of course, comes from the mother who still confuses an umpire with a referee. His batting approach was consistent with his swing that, up to this point, had never resulted in direct contact with the baseball.

Strike one!

To add to the drama, before the game began, Griffin said his coach was putting him on second base because the infielder was sick. Now, I felt sick. Was this a good idea? This is the kid who, just a few weeks ago, was throwing sand in the outfield to see which direction it would go. Talk about a teachable moment. As the first inning began, Grif beamed as he walked toward second base. He caught grounders and pop flies enough to make Hall of Famer Joe Morgan proud. In baseball talk, he “played up.”

Strike two!

Then it happened. My son not only hit the ball, he got an extra base hit—a double—scoring two runs in the process. As the bat cracked with the pop of a solid hit, Mike grabbed my arm as another mother jumped in mid-air, forgetting the bag of popcorn in her lap. Griffin began to run. Other parents in the bleachers hugged us as Griffin turned the corner toward second base. Popcorn confetti was falling all around us. His coach started cheering as teammates yelled, “Way to go, Griffin!” Our son looked up from the base and caught my eye, giving me the biggest smile I had ever seen. I think “Chariots of Fire” was playing on the field speakers.

The next inning, he made another hit. And it was on that cool spring evening at a dusty Little League field when I decided baseball was the most important sport ever to be played.

Mike and I relived this baseball high for several days, retelling the story to as many friends, family, and strangers who would tolerate us. I even called a few long lost friends to recount the tale.

“Hello, Jennifer? How have you been these past 10 years? Me? Oh, I’m good. Just the usual stuff—marriage, kids, my son’s two RBIs in one game.”

Baseball really is like the game of life, full of uncertainty when another moment of sweet connection will be made, but this one will carry us through awhile. Most importantly, Griffin is having fun. It really is about him, but it’s about us, too, sharing the experience as a family, stepping up to the plate, ready for the next pitch.

It was around one in the morning when I heard a voice beside me that sounded like my husband. He wasn’t asleep either.

“Are you awake? Can you believe the way he hit that ball?”

“I know! Did you see him smile as he ran across home plate?”

For the next half hour, we recounted a spectacular Saturday night, inning by glorious inning, happy at the thought of the words spoken by our 10-year-old Philosopher/Baseball Star before heading to bed.

“Mom, you just never know what happens until you take a swing.”