Last night had been what turned out to be Brennan’s team’s final Little League game of the season. The team had hoped to make the playoffs, but they’d lost. Some of the kids—and one of the moms—blamed Brennan for the loss, saying that he had distracted the team with all his acting up.
Sarah knew that her son had been rowdy. He’d found it hard to sit still in the dugout, and he deserved to be benched for a while. But not for the entire game.
She had been upset, sitting in the stands with the parents, watching Brennan, isolated from his team at the far end in the dugout. He’d sulked at one point, and then gotten angry, kicking his foot against the chain-link fence. At first the coaches had ignored him, but eventually one walked over, told him to knock it off and be quiet.
Brennan complied.
But he also put his head down and cried.
It hurt to watch. Sarah understood some of his feelings. She’d been an active little girl and needed exercise. Her parents had put her in sports when she was four just to help channel some of her endless energy. She’d been a natural athlete—coordinated and competitive—but she’d also been disciplined. That’s where Brennan struggled.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a good heart.
Unfortunately, no one else seemed to know that.
Last night she didn’t have a chance to talk to Boone about their son’s final game, as Boone was in Minneapolis, playing in the second game of a three-day series against the Twins. He was already at the park by the time Brennan’s game was over, and then Sarah, worn out from the long, emotional day, was asleep when Boone’s game had ended.
But when he called that morning from his hotel room, she couldn’t contain her frustration. “I understand benching him for an inning, but for most of the game, when they’re trying to make the playoffs? It crushed him.” She drew a deep breath, still feeling bruised from the night before. “And then when he cried, people made fun of him—”
“He shouldn’t cry. He’s too big for that now,” Boone said.
“He’s just eight.”
“Almost nine, and he’s got to learn. Self-control is really important, especially if he wants to continue playing sports.”
“I don’t know if he does. Last night when we got home, he said he was done.”
“He’s just upset right now. He’ll calm down, forget this.”
Sarah hesitated, trying to find the right words to keep Boone from getting defensive. “I think we have a problem. I think Brennan might have a problem. He really does struggle with control—”
“Kids do.”
“—but none of the kids on the team seem to struggle as much as our son.” She waited to see if Boone would say anything, and when he didn’t, she continued. “I’ve been watching him at practices this week, watching him on the playground at school when I’m there for yard duty, and he’s beginning to have a hard time fitting in. I don’t know if kids . . . like him . . . as much as they used to.”
“He has lots of friends.”
“I—don’t think he really does. I think his friends are starting to find him annoying. What I see is them yelling at Brennan or telling him to knock it off.”
Boone remained silent.
Sarah chewed nervously on her lip. “You know the school has suggested that Brennan might be ADHD—”
“He’s not hyperactive. I’m not putting him on Ritalin.”
“There are different medicines. It’s not always Ritalin.”
“I’m not going to medicate my kid. He’s a boy—”
“Who can’t sit still, follow directions, control his impulses, or make friends!” she burst out before biting down, tears not far off. She hated parenting with Boone long distance, hated that he was gone so much that he didn’t see what she saw. “I’m not a fan of medication either, but as his mom, as his mom who loves him, I’m telling you I’m concerned. I’m genuinely concerned we’re not doing enough for him.”
“I’m not going to put him on medication. I grew up with kids on Ritalin and it turned them into zombies. Won’t do that to Brennan. He’s a bright, active boy—a healthy, normal boy—and schools need to figure out how to teach normal, healthy boys instead of punishing them for not being girls.”
Sarah rubbed the tight muscles at her neck. “Is that what I should tell the school the next time they call?”
“Brennan will be starting a new school in the fall—”
“And you don’t think this problem will follow him?”
“No. He’s going to have a fresh start, and I’ll be there to make sure he settles down and pays attention.”