There's no crying in baseball

A few years ago, Sterling began his limited baseball career. His first year he was 8 years old. I never played tee-ball but was told what to expect. Long games and big scores. Sterling wasn't the best kid on his team, he wasn't the worst either. I do remember him being one of the fastest.
After one game, the kids cheered, shook hands and Sterling and I got in the car.
"Did you have fun?" I asked.
"Yup. Did you see me out there, dad?"
"Yup."
The coach rotated the kids. During any game one kid could play three positions. Sterling mostly played second base or outfield.
"Look what I found" Sterling said. He held up a Hot Wheel car.
"Where'd you get that," I asked.
"On the field"
"When?"
"The first inning," he said. "I dug it up with my shoe playing second base."

A different game, Sterling and I were walking toward the car when I looked down to see how dirty his pants were.
"Why are your pants wet," I asked. "It wasn't raining."
"I had to pee," he said.
In my head I was imagining the other kids teasing my son relentlessly. I got a little embarrassed for him and barked. "What the hell...you couldn't wait between innings!"
"Dad," he said, "I couldn't wait...besides...there are no time outs in baseball."
"Why didn't you go before the inning?"
"I didn't have to," he said.
I thought about it long and hard on the way home. I realized that my son and I are two different people. If it was me at 8, I wouldn't have had the presence of mind not to slow the game down. Or I would have gone in between innings. But my son walks to the beat of a much slower drummer than I do.
We got out of the car and I hugged Sterling. From an eight year old standpoint, he did the only thing he could. The right thing.
"Good for you Sterling. You took one for the team. Instead of stopping the game...you stood out there and pissed your pants. You're right...there are no timeouts in baseball." He smiled and we laughed. I was very proud of my son that night.