I am not sure how it started. It must have had something to do with how cute those white baseball uniforms are. Or the serious look on his face as he approached home plate, or the sly glance into the stands to make sure I am there. To make sure that I am watching and cheering him on. Whatever it was that inspired me, I hollered very loudly from the stands, “I love the Batter!” I could see a smile cross my son’s face. He heard me! From that moment on, a ritual was born. Every time one of my kids goes up to bat, I am there, shouting out to them, “I love the Batter!”

The initial looks that I got from some of the parents in the stands ranged from disbelief to envy. “I can’t believe that he lets you do that!” I heard this several times at the start of several seasons from both moms and dads. To me this was normal – it’s just little league, after all. To them it was unbelievable. “My kids would never let me yell that out to them!” “Really?” I wanted to ask them. Hmmm. I did not, however, let their reticence deter me or influence me. My kids liked it. That was enough for me.

Flash forward a couple of years and a few divisions upward to when my oldest started on a major league team – a team with a whole new set of parents that I did not know. During his very first at bat of the season, he walked out of the dugout toward the plate and without thinking I yelled it: “I love the Batter!”

Whiplash! Two dads quickly turned to look at me and asked simultaneously, “Seriously?” I do believe my face flushed. I had not thought about it. It did not occur to me that he might be too old for that now, too mature. That he might face the ugliness of teasing or (gasp!) being embarrassed by your mom. There was no one around for me to turn to that was familiar. I was surrounded by these new parents who had a different set of “parental bleacher rules and regulations.” An anxiety attack started to grow in my stomach. And tears started to sting my eyes. I felt like I was at a 5th grade girls slumber party and I was the one who didn’t belong.

Defensively, I repeated it to myself, over and over, “Seriously? Seriously?” Argh! Finally, I’d had enough of it in my head. This is my kid. He still loves it and I will hold onto it for as long as I can. And by doing so, I allow him to hold onto it as well. Jeez. Just because they are nearly as tall as us and are smacking the ball over 200 feet and are texting girls and wearing deodorant doesn’t mean that they aren’t still kids. Our kids. Who want and need the same thing that all kids do. Someone to cheer for them. Someone to support them. Someone who will always be in the stands calling out their name. Loving them no matter what – homerun or strike out or somewhere in between. No matter what.

When it came time for him to bat again, my stomach churned and I felt a wave of self-consciousness. But I could not let him down. I could not let our ritual down. “I love the Batter!” I screamed! And I saw the edge of a smile under his helmet. And the turning heads and gaping mouths of the parents in the bleachers. I sat a little taller. Clapped my hands a little louder and cheered! For it is in this instance where I felt cheering mattered most. Where I was going to define what worked for me and my son – regardless of what others thought.

Now, surprisingly, at the end of the season, all (or most of) the parents do it. It has become something that the whole team has become a part of. When my son gets up they holler, “Your mama loves the Batter!” And to their own kids they holler, “I love the batter”, “It’s your day,” and on and on. We holler it to the coach, to each other’s kids, and to others in the stands.

Cheer for your kid, out loud. Cheer for yourself, out loud. Cheer for others, out loud. Just find your voice and cheer. We all need it, everyday. And when you hear someone yelling at drop off, “I love the fourth grader!” or at a play, “I love Darth Vader!” or anywhere at anytime, that will be me, the mom that feels no pang of anxiety for cheering for her boys. Now. Or in the future. For when they are in high school and college and even in their professional lives, they will continue to inspire me and I will continue to burst out “I love the _____________!”Whatever it is they want to be.