When Kindness Comes Out of Left Field

While going through some old family photos recently, I found an old pic of me posed at home plate. It was taken the one time I tried my hand at a team sport. And it immediately reminded me of a small but quite significant event in my life. You can read about it below. Note: Names have not been changed as they deserve all the credit due.

It was the Spring of 1979 in Chickamauga, Georgia. And I’m pretty sure I surprised both of my parents when I told them I wanted to play little league baseball. I had no experience with any sport at that time. I was a bona fide nerd. I was such a noob at the sport that somehow it was arranged for me to play in the age class below me. I was 12. Most of my teammates were 11 or younger. We were the Twins.

I don’t recall a lot of details about that season. I do know we didn’t win the league championship. Other than that, I just don’t remember much.  That is except for one glorious moment that has stuck with me my entire life.

I’ve probably only told a handful of folks about it. Which is rather strange since I consider this one of my top 20 positive life-moments. It ranks up there with proposing to my sweetheart, getting married, and the birth of my two sons. And I’m pretty sure that most of the characters in the story which I will relate did not feel the same way about it as I did.  But to me it was an act of selfless, unexpected (and undeserved) kindness that left an indelible mark on my soul.

Jimmy Martin was the Benny Rodriguez of our little league Sandlot. He had probably played little league since he was able to walk. He knew the game. He was a terrific player – probably the best on our team. And I doubt he was terribly excited when I got placed on the Twins. I mean, who would be? Here I am – this kid who isn’t good enough to play in my own age group. I was definitely a liability in our team’s hopes to win the league. And even though I was only 12, I was smart enough to recognize that, too.

I don’t remember much team camaraderie that season. And I don’t recall if I interacted with Jimmy much at all. I’m sure I tried my best to stay out of his way and not be too much of a hindrance. But I remember not doing a whole lot of bench-sitting. It seems we were all given a chance to play. I have no idea what our record was. I just know that we weren’t toward the top – probably not even close. I don’t know how much I had to do with that, but I’m sure I felt that some of the credit could be attributed to me and my lack of athletic ability. But sometime toward the end of that season, the most astounding thing happened.

I remember dreading our game that evening. We were set to face who was generally understood to be the best pitcher in the league – Jason Daggett.  He threw hard and fast. Almost no one could get a hit off of him, and we were all a bit intimidated – me especially. He was that kind of a player. And he was 10 years old.

I don’t remember specifics of the game. Although I’m sure we weren’t winning. And to put icing on the cake, we were sitting at two outs AND it was my turn to bat.  I get nervous thinking about it even now. But, I walked to the plate and got ready to take what was coming. Which was unsurprisingly a strike. As I was digging in for the next pitch, I heard my name called from our dugout. It was Jimmy Martin, “SWING EARLY! SWING EARLY!  THEY’RE COMING IN FAST!” He was standing on the bench in the dugout, his fingers clutching the chain link fence.

Daggett sized me up and threw another fast one. But heeding my expert in the dugout, I swung way earlier than I would have ever thought necessary. Lo and behold I made contact! It went straight over the pitcher’s head between first and second base, hit center field and rolled toward the fence. I booked it to first – our coach yelling at me to take second. Running as fast as I could, I looked for the ball and saw the outfielder still fumbling with it.

At this point, I recognized an opportunity to earn some respect from my fellow players. I rounded second base all the while congratulating myself on doing what no one else had been able to do that day. I looked up and saw my coach waving me back to second. But I would have no part of that. My mind was made up that I was going to third. About five strides away from third I finally noticed that the third baseman had the ball. But it was too late. I was tagged out. And the self-congratulatory air that I had when rounding second quickly turned into shame and embarrassment. In my efforts to prove to my teammates that I wasn’t a fool, I ended up confirming that I was. That was the third out. Our chance for a run had been shot. And I was the one who blew it.

I sheepishly jogged back to the dugout, afraid to look anyone in the eye as they ran out to take their places on the field. I caught a glimpse of Jimmy running towards me. So, I braced myself for whatever tongue lashing he was absolutely justified in giving me. I did not expect what came next.

When he got to me, Jimmy grabbed me around the waist, picked me up, spun me around, and through a smile that seemed to cover his entire face, told me that was the best hit he’d ever seen. And at that moment, this 12-yr-old nerdy kid who wanted to prove himself understood what true, selfless kindness was. I deserved to be berated. I deserved any contempt from my teammates for screwing it up so royally. But what I received from Jimmy Martin caught me completely off guard.

From the perspective of time, this whole event probably took ten minutes. Yet it has remained with me my entire life. I’m in my mid-50s now, but recalling this event still touches a place deep down. It’s very likely that Jimmy had no idea how much his response would mean to me.  I’m pretty sure I never told him. The baseball season ended, school let out for the summer, and we all moved on. A couple of years later I moved away to a new town and lost touch with most everyone I’d known up to that point. And I decided that baseball wasn’t my thing and never played it again.  

These days I find myself wondering what ever happened to Jimmy. Searching through the internet and social media always turns up nothing. But I keep hoping that one day our paths will cross and I’ll be able to tell him what a mark that small bit of selflessness left on my soul. If any of you know Jimmy, well, I’d appreciate you letting him know that I’ll always remember what he did that day. It was there that I learned that sometimes the best kindness comes straight out of left field.