Virtual vs Real

If I had a son, I would teach him baseball

If I had a son, I would teach him baseball. I would get to him before he was captured by virtual baseball, by standing in his room swinging a bat at pitches in a stadium in front of 60,000 synthetic fans.

I would teach him the game in a park, on a lawn, on a sidewalk, on a dirt field. I would show him how to throw a curve. I would go over the rules of the game with salt shakers and forks and knives at a diner on our table while we were eating breakfast.

I would make sure he found kids to play pickup games with. Not so I could sit there watching him. But so he could learn on dirt, on grass, on summer afternoons stretching out to the horizon.

I would buy him a glove, a bat, a ball. But nothing expensive. These are not possessions. They’re more than that.

I would let him develop his own skills with his friends. I wouldn’t train him.

I would let him feel the combination of dirt, sun, wind, grass, the game. Many games. Win, lose, win, lose. He would find his own visions of what it meant to play baseball.

He wouldn’t find it wearing goggles or a headset in his room.

He would know competition on his own terms. How hard to try, how to relax, how to move on to the next game. Because there would always be a next.

He would, playing with friends, begin to see their attitudes. Who is obsessed, who is maniacal, who is steady, who has impressive skills, who doesn’t. He would see that the game itself tends to even out all attitudes. He would hopefully become flexible. In his mind.

This flexibility would transfer to other parts of his life. He would decide what achievement meant to him. How much winning meant to him.

These things can’t be learned in the virtual world. They can’t register in the mind and spirit.