From the recording Let Me Play
Sometimes we put too much pressure on our children to excell in sports.
Scotty scooped a grounder and drilled that pill to first,
Pumped his fist into the air, slapped his glove into the dirt.
It was pre-game warmups, when he could run around,
He laughed and slid and watched a bug, but then his dad sat down.
The umpire cried, “Play ball,” but Scotty rode the bench,
He sat for five innings, peeked at his dad, his jaw was clenched,
So Scotty tugged on his coach’s pants, and said,
Let me play,
I’ve gotta play,
There’s something you don’t understand,
And I don’t know how to say,
But, please, just let me play.
The pitcher fired a bullet, and Scotty took a swing,
Above the crowd he heard his dad yell, “Boy, how could you miss that thing?”
Another pitch was on him, and Scotty swung again,
He heard his dad scream, “Don’t strike out, we’ve got to win.”
Tears fell onto home plate, the bat slipped from his hands,
He turned and walked back to the fence, found his daddy in the stands,
Looked in his eyes, then he began,
By the creeks and anthills, as grownups call, “We’re late,”
Children beg for scraps of childhood to do what just can’t wait.
I saw myself that morning in little Scotty’s tears,
I vowed to live my own life and conquer my own fears.
Now I tuck in my new jersey, pick up a softball bat,
See little Scotty look up from the legos in his lap, and say,
“Get a hit, dad.”
Steve: lead vocals, harmony vocals, guitar
Eliot Wadopian: upright bass
Dave Johnson: mandolin, fiddle