My Boy in Blazer and Baseball Cleats

I watched you knot that first school tie,
Fingers fumbling, collar high.
A blazer hanging long and wide,
My little boy, with shoulders pride.
The mirror held a man-to-be—
But all I saw was three-year-old you
Grinning back at me.

Each morning brought a rhythm sweet:
The rustle of khakis, polished feet.
A boy becoming, day by day,
In chapel halls and locker fray.
I watched you trade your jeans for rules,
The laughter dimmed in structured schools—
But deeper grew the quiet grace,
Each button closed, each stride in place.

And then the springtime called your name,
With leather glove and dugout frame.
The dust, the cheer, the swinging bat—
I memorized you just like that.
Cap too low, and eyes like flame,
The game you love became your name.
You stood so tall beneath the lights,
I swore you glowed on Friday nights.

Now here you are, the final bell,
A chapter’s end I feared too well.
Tassel turns, and caps will fly—
But I still see your first school tie.
I’ll miss the way you took the field,
With hopeful heart and shoulders steeled.
I’ll miss the mess, the cleats by doors,
The sandwich crumbs, the locker wars.

I wonder, in the quiet hours,
Did I teach you strength, respect, and power?
Did I give you roots to bear the wind,
A voice to speak, a will to bend?
The world ahead is sharp and wide,
But you’ve got fire, and depth, and pride.
And if you stumble, you’ll still stand—
You’ve got your glove, your tie, your hands.

So walk on, son, and don't look back.
The road is yours to blaze and track.
But know wherever life may roam,
You'll always have a dugout home.
A tie to wear, a glove to lace—
And me, your mom, in every place.