Picket Fence Post

As I drove my boys to church Sunday morning, we passed some baseball fields. There, on those fields, were Little League players, coaches and parents gathering for the annual (re-scheduled) Opening Day festivities. A parade of this year’s players and coaches was to be followed by a ceremony and then an all-day mini-carnival.

And my kids were not going to be a part of the parade and ceremony.

We were going to church, despite the fact that my two sons play Little League and The Spouse coaches them both. When they started squawking about why there were kids gathered in uniform and they weren’t among them, I informed my kiddos that we were going to miss Opening Day this year because their father and I had Sunday school teaching obligations in their classrooms and, in fact, their dad and sister were already at church.

Had Opening Day gone on as originally scheduled, I explained, everything would’ve worked out fine. Both The Spouse and I made special arrangements to have our teaching slots covered and were prepared to chose baseball over church on that particular morning. But then it rained. And Opening Day was re-scheduled for another Sunday morning, during which we were slated to teach. After a long talk, The Spouse and I decided that we didn’t feel right about trying to worm out of teaching at church again - we had rescheduled another previous Sunday slot to accommodate a beloved family member’s 90th birthday party - so we decided that, after attending Opening Day ceremonies for three years in a row, it wouldn’t kill us to skip it this time.

But trying to explain this to the boys (”We’re the only ones going to church!” “This isn’t fair.” ”Why do you get to make all of the decisions?” “I hate church.” “I won’t do this to my kids.”) was a major head ache, particularly when I’d only had one cup of coffee at that point in the day.

“We can’t do everything,” I told them. “And we’re trying to make the best decisions we can for you guys.” (Later that afternoon, my guilt and consequent overcaffeination caught up with me and I doled out too much cash into sweaty little palms for tickets to carnival rides and multiple servings of cotton candy. Go ahead, sick the Nutrition Police on me; they can get in line behind my legions of other fans, like the Youth Sports Cartel, judgmental mothers — Sancti-Mommies, overzealoused legislators . . . the list is long and proud.)

Given that we’ve already sacrificed Mother’s Day for Little League baseball (my parents and in-laws watched the Eldest Boy’s game with us before coming to my house for dinner), and that we’ve been spending countless hours at ball fields during this unusually chilly New England spring (including a 2 1/2-hour game on a school night last week), I think we’ve more than demonstrated our family’s commitment to youth baseball. Sometimes, church should come first.

Despite the heated discussion I had with my Little Leaguers over skipping Opening Day, I’m still in a quandary about what will happen this fall, when there will be many, many conflicts between my sons’ football games (pray for my sanity, they’ve signed up for football) and Sunday morning services. From what I hear on the sports parents’ grapevine, youth football games are all on Sunday mornings. God help us.

What do you do when there are conflicts between religious services and youth sports schedules?