More than the Sum of its Parts

Here in the middle of winter, while everything is cold and stark, my mind, like yours probably, is already turning to spring. What is it about us that is wired to always be thinking about the next thing? Why is it so hard to live in the moment? Perhaps that is fodder for a future blog?

To me, Spring means two things: gardening and baseball.

I am already imagining the schedule change that takes place in my house beginning mid-April: where homework must be done as soon as school is over and dinners are eaten on the bleachers of the Yalesville Little League fields while my boys are practicing or playing. I’ve also already begun searching the seed catalogues for what new items I want to put in my vegetable garden and considering an expansion of the amount of space I’ve allotted for it.

My thought this morning is about the commonality of these two pursuits; the idea that in both cases, the whole is often more than the sum of its parts.

Right now, in mid-January, my garden is merely an eyesore. The plot is piled high with leaves from the garden that, once the ground thaws, will be turned into the soil. The stakes that hold up the fence that keeps deer and Turner’s size 10-and-a-half hoofers out of my garden stand gawking against the snowy ground. Yes, more than once, a child chasing an errant fly ball in our backyard has landed square on top of a tomato plant. It’s amazing how a few five foot pieces of lumber sticking out of the ground will suddenly make my boys more careful.

But I know that come June, July and August, this otherwise insignificant plot of land will be bursting with the greens, reds, and purples of my basil, lettuce, cukes, tomatos, eggplant, beets, etc., and I can’t wait!

Similarly, when the baseball season starts, the teams are comprised of children with a very wide range of playing ability. Coaching staffs haven’t necessarily gelled yet. And sometimes, emotions run high.

Yet, by mid-June, individual players have mastered numerous skills and strategies (I still can get giddy remembering Turner’s 56 pitch shut out during all-stars last summer), and teams have coalesced into … well ….teams.

While none of this may be particularly surprising or miraculous ... it all signifies something more to me. As a parent, I eagerly wait for the fulfillment of possibility in my own children. Where will they excel? Where will they meet their fullest potential? What pursuits, traits, and rigors of their childhood will they carry into adulthood? This to me is when they will become more of the sum of their parts. Just as the combination of seeds, water and sunshine can yield one surprisingly perfect tomato, I wonder what habits of mind, body and spirit will push my children toward excellence? In the same way that running, batting and fielding drills create muscle memory so game play is instinctive, I wonder which of our family’s drills or traditions will become instinctive?

It happens to each of us. Suddenly, magically, we all mature and assemble all the gangly, disparate elements of our youths into one, recognizable adult persona. This Spring will find me, once again, taking the lessons of gardening and little league and applying those truths to my children. I am confident an adventure awaits my spirited boys and, indeed, our entire family. I wonder what it will be.