One year we decided it would be fun to go to the mountains for a white Christmas. By “we” I mostly mean Brian. I start shivering when the mercury dips below 70 degrees. Still, I am usually up for an adventure. We packed up boxes of presents, a small artificial tree, some lights and enough food for a few days. The newly renovated roadside inn had a large 2-bedroom suite with a heater that didn’t work and only a dusting of snow. It was an adventure alright.

 Christmas morning, we started passing around the gifts. At that point, I realized we had left Sophia’s stash behind in the rush to get the van packed. I tried to think of a gentle way to explain the problem. Sophia just shrugged. “That’s OK, Mom,” she said. “Now it will be like having another Christmas when we get home.”

 I remembered this event as I stood in the sporting goods section of the store, pondering baseball equipment. Sophia had been bugging me about a ball and bat for a while, but every parent knows that you can’t buy a ball and a bat for just one kid and expect to have any peace in the family. For our brood, stocking up on baseball equipment was going to be a major expense. I put her off.

 Aside from the financial consideration, there is the practical aspect. Just because we can practically field an entire team, I have to ask myself if we actually should. Any mention of reality had been quickly dismissed by my daughter. Baseball looks fun, therefore we should play. It is hard to argue with such logic.

 As her birthday approached, I started wondering about getting baseball gear as a gift. It would be, by necessity, a gift shared by all, and I didn’t want Sophia to feel slighted. Her habit is to share all her gifts. I try to find something each time that can be uniquely hers. The younger children, awed by her generosity, give her fancy chocolates and gum. Sophia never seems to mind, even when her siblings have mooched all her candy. I didn’t want to diminish her birthday, and yet I wanted to give something she had been hoping for.

 I started loading up balls, gloves and a pink and yellow bat.

 The next day, my little slugger opened her baseball gear with her usual enthusiasm and generosity. She passed out gloves and designated herself as the first hitter.

 I was appointed coach based on my extensive experience. First, I played softball in junior high school. Second, I once sat in a skybox at an A’s game. Third, I have a sister who likes baseball. I was the most qualified person in the immediate family, so I started coaching.

 Batting practice led to a game of catch. I left the children chattering and tossing balls in the yard and went in to finish washing dishes. I opened the windows to hear the children shouting encouragement to one another. The younger ones squealed with delight as they learned to use their gloves.

 As the blue sky turned golden, I tried to burn the image of that warm spring evening on my brain. These are the memories I will treasure. I gave my daughter a present for her birthday. As she often does, she gave an even greater gift back to me.

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