Thirteen-year-old Hayden Walton of Winslow, Arizona approached home plate Tuesday with a swagger familiar to any seasoned Little League baseball player.  Eyes locked with those of the opposing pitcher, he adjusts his batting helmet, tugs at his twin wrist bands and scratches the home plate dirt with the toe of his left cleat.  He’s about to execute a bunt, probably to draw the infield players away from their positions in order to allow his teammate(s) on base to advance unmolested.

I know this scene.  Intimately.  For more than 30 years I sat upon the butt-numbing benches of ball fields all over the U.S. watching similar seemingly routine baseball scenarios unfold.  From Pee Wee League through the pros, every time my son stalked home plate with the intention of sending “the Pill” into the middle of next week, I held my breath.  I have never understood where little children and big men alike find the courage to stand on that plate while an opponent hurls a 2 and 7/8 to 3-inch diameter rock at their heads.

This time it was Hayden’s mother who was probably sitting there breathless.  And this time, our fears were justified.  When Hayden turned to face the mound, sliding his right hand to the fat end of the bat for the bunt, the pitched ball slammed into his chest, just above his heart.  His heart stopped after he took two steps toward first base.  It stopped.  And it never started again.

There are parents all over the country this morning discussing this heart-breaking turn of events.  Many, mostly mothers, probably, are reaffirming their belief that hard ball is far too dangerous for kids to be playing.  How can we let our sons and daughters continue taking these unnecessary risks knowing it could result in their deaths?

To all you parents of young Major League wannabes I say this:  Please take a breath and think.  Yes, it is our jobs to keep our kids safe and out of harm’s way.  We make sure the infant seats are installed correctly before we bring our new infants home from the hospital.  We child-proof the electric sockets and bolt the kitchen cabinets.  We do what we need to do to protect them from their not-ready-for-prime-time selves.  But it is also our jobs to raise complete and productive human beings to adulthood.  Part of that job is to teach the relationship between risk and reward and how to skew our chances toward success.  Facing our fears is a great part of growing up strong and effective.  We parents do that every single time we allow our kids to leave our field of vision…because we have to.

My son has had more than his share of serious injuries.  Every single one of them has been related to some form of competitive sport.  A second-base-stealing slide into the bag caused his career-ending knee injury.  Do I regret any of the thousands of games he played, standing at the plate daring a pitcher to hit him?  Not one.  Danger is everywhere, more often than not when we least expect it.  And of the dozens of times my son has been hit by a baseball pitched by men throwing at speeds averaging around 90 mph, not once has he ever been hit in the chest.  Does that mean your child won’t be?  Of course not.  But look at the odds and don’t let your fears for your child deprive him or her of the opportunities to learn about life from the game.