Oh, how I've relished that catch.
You at shortstop, your team finally ahead on the scoreboard, and a buzz of excitement circulating through the Indians - both players and fans. Guarding the infield and glaring down runners considering a steal, you call out updates between batters: "One away, play's at first!" You wave your arm in an arc over your head, pointer finger extended. No one taught you how to do that.
Oh my gosh, Hudson, you are so adorable.
I love watching you assume the role of a team leader. The baseball diamond is one place that you're not lumbering behind your big brother. Rather than follow in Bran's footsteps, you're leaving your own trail. For the span of just a few innings, the "grandpa" Hudson we all know and love is replaced by a quick-thinking, focused, intense ball player.
So there you stand at short, fully engaged, fully aware. Baseball ready, knees slightly bent, eyes studying every move on the diamond.
Batter's up. Crack! A hard line drive barrels between you and the third baseman. Intuitively, your gloved hand extends across your chest as you dive, and snap! The ball remains nestled firm in your glove, even as you somersault and come up triumphant. Arm raised with the trophy of a catch, your grin almost as big as Mommy's.
One of my greatest joys, watching you on that field.
"Mom, when I saw that ball, I didn't think I could catch it, but I tried anyway."
Atta boy, Hud. You make me so proud - on the field and off.
Love you with my whole heart.
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