Never Blame the Umpire (9 page)

Dad’s been coming to all our baseball games. Sometimes Mama’s been too sick to come. They argue about it. Not really argue. Disagree. Dad always says he’s going to stay home with her. She needs him, he says. Mama always tells him to go to the game. She says she’ll be okay for a couple of hours.

Mama always wins. I’m glad. I love for Dad to be at our games. I just hate it that Mama can’t come.

Mama’s feeling better today, so she is at the game with Dad. It rained this afternoon and it’s cool this evening. Not cold enough for a jacket or anything, a perfect temperature to play baseball. Except Mama’s wearing a jacket. She’s the only one I see wearing one.

It makes me sad to see it. It’s like proof—as if I didn’t already know—that she’s getting more and more sick all the time. I’ve seen Mama playing tennis in short sleeves and shorts when the temperature is in the forties. Cold has never seemed to bother her. Until now.

I don’t want anybody to think I’ve spent the whole game watching Mama and worrying about her. The game is one of the most exciting we’ve played all summer, except for that first one, of course. I don’t think I’ll ever play in a baseball game that will be more exciting than that one. I don’t suppose I’ll ever make another game-winning hit. But in this one we’re tied in the sixth inning. If the game goes extra innings, I might have a chance to bat again, but I hope it doesn’t. I hope we score the winning run right now.

I made an out in the fifth inning, so there’s no way I can possibly come up to bat this inning. We have our number nine hitter Toby leading off in the sixth, then our leadoff hitter Jake, our number two hitter Ken, and if somebody gets on, our best hitter. That’s Ivy.

I’m batting seventh in the order. So I figured out that before it can be my turn to hit we’ll either have three outs this inning or else we’ll have scored the winning run.

Toby has only two hits all year, and the guy
throwing for the other team is the fastest guy we’ve faced this season. We’re lucky to be tied. They’ve got about nine or ten hits, and we only have two, but we’re tied three to three. We’ve made some great catches. They could have scored a lot more. We were lucky to score at all. In the fourth inning their pitcher struck out our first two batters, then he walked Jake and Ken singled. Ivy hit a fly ball to right field that should have been an easy out, but the right fielder dropped the ball. Both runners scored and Ivy got all the way to second base. The next batter, Andy, hit a fly ball to right and he dropped this one too. Ivy scored our third run.

Then an awful thing happened.

Their coach ran halfway to right field and waved at the right fielder to come in off the field. He sent somebody else out to take his place. Right in the middle of the inning. I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was the same coach I saw pull his shortstop off the field in the middle of an inning during one of Ken’s games last year.

The poor kid that dropped those two fly balls was crying when he got to the bench. He sat down on the end of the bench and covered his head with a towel. I know he was still crying. He probably didn’t want anybody to see him. A couple of his teammates came over and patted him on the shoulder. It looked like they were maybe trying to make him feel better.
He just pushed them away, though.

It wouldn’t surprise me if the poor kid never played baseball again.

“That’s all right, Toby!” Coach calls out. Toby’s walking back to the bench with his head down. He just struck out. The pitcher is just too fast for him. Toby never had a chance, but he at least went down swinging.

If we can get Jake on, we’ve got a chance with Ken and Ivy coming up. Jake’s the perfect lead-off batter. He’s the shortest guy on our team, and he doesn’t strike out much. He fouls off a lot of pitches, and the more pitches a pitcher throws, the more chance there is he’ll walk Jake, which happens a lot.

But not this time. Jake hits a pop-up that their first baseman doesn’t hardly even have to move for.

Ken has one of our two hits, and he really needs one now. If he can just get on, Ivy can win it for us.

Ken swings and I jump to my feet. So does everybody else on our bench. I can’t believe it! He’s just hit maybe the longest ball he’s hit all year, way out in right field. It clears the fence by about ten feet. I see him stop halfway to first base. I don’t know why. He turns and comes back to home plate.

The umpire called it foul.

I didn’t have a good look at it, but the ump must have got the call right. Nobody argues.

“Nice swing, Ken!” Coach calls out. “Just missed
it by a couple feet.”

I look back at the bleachers. Everybody is on their feet. Even Mama. She has a big smile on her face, and I guess she’s not cold after all, because her jacket is off now.

“Do it again, Ken!” she shouts. “You can do it!”

And he does!

I’m not saying it’s because of what Mama said. That’s too spooky. But on his next swing, he hits it almost the same place, but this one clears the right field fence just inside the foul line.

We all rush out on the field toward Ken. On my way I glance toward the bleachers. Mama is grinning and yelling and hugging Dad. She reminds me of a little kid on Christmas morning. Her cheeks aren’t their usual pale white; they’re rosy. Her eyes are bright. She looks like she hasn’t been sick a day in her life.

“We’re going to Adventure Land Amusement Park next week!” Ginny squeals over the phone. “My parents just said you can come, too. We’ll have a super time!”

Adventure Land Amusement Park! It’s one of my favorite places. And not just because of the neat rides. A part of the park is like a combination junglezoo with a bunch of wild animals. You get on a train and ride right past them, almost close enough to touch them. And there’s lots of other fun things to do. I’ve been to Disney World, and Adventure Land is almost as great. What makes Adventure Land even better for me is that it’s only four hours away, close enough that I usually get to go there at least
once every summer.

I just love going there. I really do.

“I can’t go,” I say.

“Wait,” Ginny says. “I haven’t told you when we’re going. My dad gets his vacation next week. We’ll be going on Tuesday, and we’ll stay in a motel Tuesday night, spend all day Wednesday at Adventure Land, stay at a motel again Wednesday night, and go to a major league baseball game on the way home on Thursday afternoon.”

Any other time in my life I’d have said yes in a second.

But in the week since Ken’s game-winning home run Mama’s gotten a lot worse. She hardly eats anything. When she does try to eat, she usually ends up in the bathroom throwing up. It seems like she’s getting thinner and weaker every day. She hasn’t even tried to play tennis since that match right after the Fourth of July when she got tired and quit early and got mad at Dad. I just can’t be away from Mama now. Not for three whole days.

“It sounds fun. I wish I could go. But this isn’t a good time. Don’t you have play rehearsal anyway?”

“I’ll just miss two rehearsals. And my dad had me talk to the director before he made vacation plans. Our director told me which nights they’ll be working on scenes I’m not going to be in. She said it’s okay if I miss those two rehearsals.”

I feel bad about not being able to go, but I feel worse about letting Ginny down. “Well, maybe you can ask Allison or Ivy to go with you.”

“I know why you want to stay home, but I think you should go. It’s only for a couple days.”

A couple of days. Three, actually. Anything can happen in three days.

“I know. But I can’t go. Really. I just can’t.”

“Go where?” Mama is standing in the doorway. I don’t know how long she’s been there or how much she’s heard.

I hold my hand over the phone. “It’s Ginny. She’s asked me to go with them to Adventure Land next week.”

“You told her you can’t?”

I nod.

Mama takes my phone from me. “Hi, Ginny,” she says. “Kate will call you right back.” She closes it and hands it to me.

“Now,” she says. “You love Adventure Land. Why aren’t you going?”

“It’s going to be for three whole days. They’re leaving Tuesday and not coming back until Thursday night.”

“So? What big plans do you have for next week?”

What I’m thinking is, “I don’t want to leave you,” but what I say is, “We have our last ballgame on Friday.”

“So? You’ll be back in plenty of time.”

“I’ll miss practice.”

“I don’t think your coach will mind. You’ve been at practically every practice all summer.”

“But I’ll be gone three days.”

Mama takes my arm and sits on the sofa, pulling me down beside her. “Kate. Sweetheart. It’s been a hard summer for you, for all of us. But it’s been a fun summer, too, hasn’t it? I’ve had such a good time being able to spend so much of it with you and Ken and your father. But you need time with your friends, too. I think you need to go.”

“I can’t.” Does she really think I would leave her for all that time?

“I want you to. I know you worry about me, but I’ll be fine while you’re gone.” She gives me one of her big smiles. “You know that your father will take good care of me.”

“I know, Mama. But…three days.”

“I want you to have this special time with Ginny. It will mean a lot to me.”

I study Mama’s face. I try to read something into it that will tell me if she means it or if she’s just pretending. I can’t be certain. “Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yes, I am.” She pulls me close and gives me a big hug.

“We can’t just sit around expecting the worst,” she says. “We have to make the most of every day.
And this is the time for you to enjoy Adventure Land with Ginny and her family. I’ll miss you while you’re gone, but it will make me very happy knowing you’re having a good time with your best friend.”

“I just don’t know…”

“You must go,” she says. “For me.” She stands and walks over to the bookcase. She picks up a photo Dad took of Ken and me in our baseball uniforms. “I’ve watched you and Ken play baseball this summer, and I’ve been so proud of you. Not just because of how well you’ve both played and how hard you’ve worked to improve, but because you’ve had fun playing. And you know something else? I’ve thought a lot about the umpires.”

“The umpires?”

Her eyes are bright. They seem alive. I can’t understand how she can be so sick and her eyes look so alive. “Umpires,” she says. “You need them to control the game. Of course, the players and coaches and fans don’t always agree with the umpire’s calls. Sometimes we get mad at them and wonder how they could have made the calls they did.”

“That’s for sure,” I say. “Like the game against Logansville, when they called their runner safe at first in the last inning. The game should have been over. Then their next batter hit a home run to beat us. If they’d made the right call, we would have won the game.” Just thinking about that moment again
makes me mad. Even the Logansville players were joking after the game about how the ump missed that call. I still don’t know how the ump was the only person in the ballpark who couldn’t see the player was out by at least a full step.

“I remember that play. That was a shame. But when you think about it, God and umpires have a lot in common.”

“God and umpires?” I’ve been going to Sunday School my whole life, but I’ve never heard anybody compare God to a baseball umpire before.

“Just think about it. Think about all the decisions an umpire has to make during a baseball game. Is it a ball or strike? Is the runner out or safe?” Mama walks to a shelf and picks up the scorecard that Ken had filled out the last time we went to a Kansas City Royals game. “Remember this game? We went to see the players, but the umpires were important. The players and the fans too have to trust that the umpires will make the right call. They can’t just quit if they don’t like the umpire’s call. We can’t quit if we don’t like God’s decision.” Mama sets the scorecard back down and takes my hand. She squeezes it. I love the touch of her hand on mine. She says, “Of course, God doesn’t make mistakes like umpires sometimes do.”

“How can you say that?” I pull away from her. I don’t mean to. It’s like when you touch a hot pan.
You can’t help but pull your hand away. It’s as if Mama’s words have burned me. God did make a mistake. A terrible one. “God made a mistake by letting you get sick. If God…” I can’t finish my thought. Not out loud. I can’t speak the words I’m thinking, that if God lets Mama die, he’s making the most terrible mistake anybody can make.

“I know how you feel, honey,” Mama says softly. “But let me finish. Just listen. I want you to see that umpires are human, and humans make mistakes. God doesn’t. God has a plan. We might not understand it, but it doesn’t mean he is wrong, or that he’s made a mistake. We get mad at God sometimes, just like we get mad at umpires. We think that God is wrong sometimes. We wonder how he could have made such a terrible decision. We blame God for the bad things, just as we blame umpires for the bad things in ball games.”

I shake my head back and forth. I still don’t understand. “But it’s like you said, God isn’t human. So I don’t understand how he can let bad things happen.”

“That’s the mystery of God,” Mama says. “We can’t see the future, so maybe what we think is bad might really be something God lets happen so that something even worse won’t happen in the future.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Think about it. Isn’t it possible? That’s another one of God’s mysteries that we humans can never
know. And remember this, too, about umpires. No matter how we feel about an umpire’s decision, we have to accept it. The umpire is the authority in every ball game. If we challenge the umpire’s authority too strongly, we might end up having to forfeit the game. God is the ultimate authority in our lives.” Mama takes my hand again. This time I don’t pull away. I want to feel her touch. I never want to lose the feeling of her hand in mine.

“We might not agree with his every decision,” Mama says, “we may not even understand it—but we need to accept it. If we reject his authority and challenge his decisions, we might ultimately have to forfeit all that he has offered us. Our life is like a ball game, and I am winning, no matter what happens, because I’m trying to play by God’s rules. I accept his will for me.”

I’ve never thought about umpires being like God. It sure doesn’t seem fair to God to compare him to an umpire. I’ve been so mad at God that I have this terrible thought that maybe it’s not fair to the umpire. I feel guilty thinking that. I try to pretend I never thought it.

I can see that some of what Mama says makes sense.

“I love you, Mama,” I cry, burying my head on her shoulder. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, darling,” Mama whispers.

“What you just said, about God and umpires.
I’ve never thought about it like that.”

“There’s one more thing I want you to remember,” Mama says. “There is one big difference, the most important difference of all. We need God in our lives far more than a game needs an umpire. God didn’t give me my cancer. We mustn’t blame him. God is helping me deal with any pain and sadness the cancer has caused.” She gives my hand a squeeze.

“Now call Ginny,” she says.

So I do.