Strategies of Distraction

Jack is sitting in the dugout picking at the bottom of his cleats.  He appears to be mesmerized by the amount of dirt and grass stuck between the spikes and just when I think he has gotten bored with the task, he screams out onto the playing field, “Hey, look what’s on the bottom of my foot.”  I look over to see the remains of a very long and gooey worm.  The poor dear met his unfortunate fate by being in the wrong place at the wrong time in the outfield.  Jack is ecstatic—as is every other kindergarten boy on and off the field. 

“So cool, Jack,” his friend Mark exclaims.  “Is it still moving?”

“No, only when I wiggle it with my fingers.  The other part is missing—it must still be in the grass,” Jack says.

“Let’s try to find it.”  Replies Mark as he yells to the other team who is now positioned in the field, “Hey, look for a worm part in the grass—Jack has the other part on his shoe.”

Obviously, the worm has become a distraction as Jack and his teammates (and even some of those on the opposing team) are busy trying to determine if the stuck worm is a whole or a part. Just then, Nate—who is already dressed for his late evening baseball game—gets up off the ground and walks over to the dugout.  He snatches the worm from Jack’s shoe and says, “There, it’s gone.  There’s no need to find the other part.  Watch the game.”

Nate has no patience for such shenanigans and would rather these young boys spend their dugout time cheering on their teammates or spitting sunflower seeds through the fence.  In his short 11 years of life, Nate’s sport experience has gone from frivolous fun to serious strategy and while he was once a reluctant baseball player (his real passion is football and wrestling), he has developed an admiration and respect for the game—something he is trying to instill in his young brother.  

“Nate!” Jack screams from the dugout.  “Why did you do that?”

“It’s a worm.  A dead worm.  I’ll find you a new ‘alive’ worm while you finish the game.”  Nate screams back.  Nate and I both know he has no intention of digging for worms during this game, but his reply seems to be just enough to appease the young boys on the team.

“Don’t you think Jack will be disappointed when he doesn’t have a new worm at the end of this game?”  I ask. 

“I don’t need to find a worm,” says Nate.  “I just saw the Mom with the snacks and she brought blue Gatorades and Rice Krispie treats.  They won’t even remember the worm in Jack’s shoe when they see that.  Hey, can we bring blue Gatorades when it’s our snack day for my team?”

“We don’t have snack days for your team, Nate.  You’re too old.” 

“Oh,” he says as he begins kicking the dirt with his cleat.  “Hey, look what’s on the bottom of my foot?”

I look down to see the missing part of Jack’s worm dangling oh so carefully from Nate’s shoe.  “I’ll just give him this part.  He won’t know it’s dead until he gets home.”

“The worm is not going in my car—dead or not,” I state.  

“Well, you better hope he likes the blue Gatorade,” laughs Nate. 

It’s nice to see the serious sport strategies that Nate is learning include how to distract his young brother.  Perhaps I should be taking notes.