I Apologize To My Beautiful Son Trea Turner, Who I Never Should Have Doubted For One Minute

Was I completely satisfied when my beautiful, fast son Trea Turner returned from his long study abroad program on the West Coast to live near me again, as God intended? In fact! I was thrilled! I was still pleased with him, although he moved very distant and never, ever called. We had spent so a few years together in completely satisfied harmony in Washington, D.C. But after he moved I—miserable, without child, and lonely—moved too. He was an adult, I reasoned, I had to maneuver on. Or at the very least, I thought I did.

But then he returned home, to live by me, this time to play for the Philadelphia Phillies and this filled my heart with joy. He’s so fast, in spite of everything. And naively I believed that because he’s a grown-up, he wouldn’t embarrass me. I believed that he would maintain all of the abilities and tricks and charisma that I knew him to have. I believed in him a lot that on March 30, I made the most important sports bet I have ever made: $50 on Trea Turner to win National League MVP. On the time, this seemed liked the neatest decision I had ever made however it was, actually, a misguided belief.

As I have written before, it is vitally good practice (as a fan) to adopt a terrible son who you like very much. But Trea Turner was not alleged to be a terrible son anymore! He was alleged to have outgrown this!!!

I was stunned by the sorts of errors he was made early this season. Supportive, but ashamed. Balls bounced up over his glove like they were sent by Devil to thwart him (and me!) personally. He dove for line drives and missed by feet as an alternative of creating beautiful, reaching plays. Also, he completely forgot how one can hit. In early June, I attended a game where two women my age decided to heckle him. Perhaps, they should have thought, the heckling will wake him up! So that they chanted, “Earn your paycheck! Earn our love!” Over and another time. We were not likely far enough from the sector to confidently assume he couldn’t hear us. I think, probably, he could. The stadium was quiet otherwise. The Phillies were losing. I felt bad for my son, but not as bad as a mother should.

I would love to apologize to my beautiful fast son Trea Turner for staying silent on this moment. Since then, the facility of the standing ovation has healed him. The fans applauded him (including me), and now he’s cured of his ailment. Since Aug. 4, he’s hitting .393 with 53 hits, 16 home runs, and 40 RBIs. He also welcomed to his family one other beautiful son (Tatum). It’s unclear if I will likely be adopting Tatum as my baseball grandchild, as he is barely a baby.

But still I have been nervous. Perhaps it was unfounded. But I know what my wonderful son looks like when he is not nervous. I know that he doesn’t make defensive errors. I know that he never loses his balance within the box. I know that when he’s on, his swing looks like an exquisite slice of the air that just happens to intersect with the ball. It looks like … well … it looks exactly prefer it did last night.

Take a look at him! My baby! His a hundred and fiftieth profession homerun! A beauty, and a beacon that he’s back!

Sure, the Phillies lost to Atlanta in extra innings last night, which is dumb and annoying since they’re in a tight-ish wild card race, but have a look at that swing!!! Whew!!! A mother all the time knows. And let me let you know, I know. That will not be the swing of a man who’s floundering. That is the swing of a man who knows what he’s doing. He is not off-balance in any respect. Actually, that big homer looks like he barely touched the baseball, identical to it all the time used to look before he lost faith in himself after which I lost faith in him.

My poor son. He didn’t deserve my skepticism. I am so pleased with my fast and nice son! He has overcome such difficulty! He’s reborn again! I love him!