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I Apologize To My Beautiful Son Trea Turner, Who I Never Should Have Doubted For One Minute

Trea Turner rounds the bases after hitting a home run
Tim Nwachukwu/Getty Images

Was I happy when my beautiful, fast son Trea Turner returned from his long study abroad program on the West Coast to live close to me again, as God intended? Of course! I was thrilled! I was still proud of him, even though he moved very far away and never, ever called. We had spent so many years together in happy harmony in Washington, D.C. But after he moved I—miserable, without child, and lonely—moved too. He was an adult, I reasoned, I had to move on. Or at least, I thought I did.

But then he returned home, to live by me, this time to play for the Philadelphia Phillies and this filled my heart with joy. He is so fast, after all. And naively I believed that because he is a grown-up, he would not embarrass me. I believed that he would maintain all of the skills and tricks and charisma that I knew him to have. I believed in him so much that on March 30, I made the biggest sports bet I have ever made: $50 on Trea Turner to win National League MVP. At the time, this seemed liked the smartest decision I had ever made but it was, in fact, a misguided belief.

As I have written before, it is very good practice (as a fan) to adopt a terrible son who you love very much. But Trea Turner was not supposed to be a terrible son anymore! He was supposed to have outgrown this!!!

I was stunned by the kinds of errors he was made early this season. Supportive, but ashamed. Balls bounced up over his glove like they were sent by Satan to thwart him (and me!) personally. He dove for line drives and missed by feet instead of making beautiful, reaching plays. Also, he completely forgot how to hit. In early June, I attended a game where two women my age decided to heckle him. Perhaps, they must have thought, the heckling will wake him up! So they chanted, "Earn your paycheck! Earn our love!" Over and over again. We were not really far enough from the field to confidently assume he couldn't hear us. I think, probably, he could. The stadium was quiet otherwise. The Phillies were losing. I felt bad for my son, but not as bad as a mother should.

I would like to apologize to my beautiful fast son Trea Turner for staying silent in this moment. Since then, the power of the standing ovation has healed him. The fans applauded him (including me), and now he is cured of his ailment. Since Aug. 4, he is hitting .393 with 53 hits, 16 home runs, and 40 RBIs. He also welcomed to his family another beautiful son (Tatum). It is unclear if I will be adopting Tatum as my baseball grandchild, as he is only a baby.

But still I have been nervous. Perhaps it was unfounded. But I know what my wonderful son looks like when he isn't nervous. I know that he doesn't make defensive errors. I know that he never loses his balance in the box. I know that when he is on, his swing looks like a beautiful slice of the air that just happens to intersect with the ball. It looks like ... well ... it looks exactly like it did last night.

Look at him! My baby! His 150th career homerun! A beauty, and a beacon that he is back!

Sure, the Phillies lost to Atlanta in extra innings last night, which is dumb and annoying since they are in a tight-ish wild card race, but look at that swing!!! Whew!!! A mother always knows. And let me tell you, I know. That is not the swing of a guy who is floundering. That's the swing of a guy who knows what he's doing. He's not off-balance at all. In fact, that giant homer looks like he barely touched the baseball, just like it always used to look before he lost faith in himself and then I lost faith in him.

My poor son. He did not deserve my skepticism. I am so proud of my fast and nice son! He has overcome such difficulty! He is reborn again! I love him!

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