Wiffle Ball, a Huffy Bike, and the Question that Matters Most

What do you get when you cross your hero, your favorite childhood game, and years of pre-pubescent insecurities?

You guessed it…..you stumble upon the one underlying question we all ask in our primary relationships.

It was circa 1978 or 1979….I was about 8 years old, and my older brother was visiting from out-of-town. This blog doesn’t offer me the room to tell you how important that was for me. My big brother was my childhood hero. He was a Green Beret, a police officer, and even though he was many years older than me, he was the one person who, without fail, took time out to be with me……play with me……value  me.

And so, when he came home to visit, I couldn’t wait to show him off.

But on this particular occasion things did not go as I had hoped.

During my childhood, there were certain games or themes that we repeated constantly in my neighborhood. We played “Cowboys and Indians” (we did not know the term, “Native American” yet), Army, Star Trek, and wiffle ball.

Oh, did we love wiffle ball.

The one game where you could be Nolan Ryan, Johnny Bench, and Babe Ruth all at the same time. Past the bush was a double, over the maple tree a home run. It was a glorious game that one could play for hours and spend only about $2 on ball and bat. We played it almost daily until darkness called us home.

And so, on this day….my favorite game and my hero were both present, and I was on top of the world…..until I wasn’t.

I don’t remember the details really. I just remember that, at some point during the game, there was controversy. You know, one of those existential crises that 8-year-olds fight about……a hill that every little boy would die on; was the runner safe or out. I don’t remember the words we used, but I do remember the intensity. “He was out!!”  “Aaron, he was safe!!” and the emotions escalated. I remember being angry, SURE that this runner was OUT. There was no question, although apparently the entire neighborhood disagreed.

And then it happened.

In one moment, it felt like my world collapsed.

My brother…my hero…..my role model and, at the time, the only person I thought I could count on…..calmly said, “Aaron, I really think the runner was safe.”

This may seem funny now, but in that moment, I remember my heart sank, and I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and pouring out. I began to cry uncontrollably and, at 8 years old, to cry like that in front of one’s peers and neighbors became mixed with embarrassment and shame. All I remember thinking was that I had to get away. I had to escape, and so I jumped on my bike and just took off, with no destination in mind.

So, there I am…..in 1978…..riding my bike as fast as I could……barely able to see through my tears.

Again, it seems silly now, but as I type this I can still feel how deeply sad and heartbroken I was as I pedaled my blue Huffy to nowhere.

I didn’t get too far when my brother pulled up next to me in his car and rolled down the window. The look on his face was one of complete confusion. He had no idea what had just happened.

“Aaron, what’s wrong?”

I just kept pedaling and weeping.

“Aaron, stop. Come on now, stop.”

I finally stopped my bike, but I couldn’t stop the tears. If anything, they started to flow more freely and I just sobbed.

My brother was a kind man. I remember that his face turned from confusion to empathy, and he asked me again, “Aaron, what’s wrong?”

And then it all came out.

Through heaving sobs, I yelled, “You’re my brother! You’re supposed to be on my side!!”

And at that moment, it was more than just childhood immaturity. It was deeper than a little boy who had felt like an outsider for a long time.

It was really a form of the question we all ask of those we’re in deep relationship with:

“Will you be there for me?”

“If I need you, will you be there?”

And we ask it all the time.

Of our spouses, our best friends, our children, and our parents. We ask it of anyone with which we are truly vulnerable and intimate.

“Will……you…..be…..there….for…..me?”

And when our nervous system senses that the answer is “no” or if we’re not sure, we often either withdraw and retreat (like a little boy who rides his bike to nowhere), or we anxiously pursue.

Dr. Sue Johnson, the primary developer of Emotionally Focused Therapy (EFT) calls these moments “attachment protests.” She says that this question (will you be there for me?) is the fundamental question we all ask of our intimate partners. And when it doesn’t feel like they are, we “protest” through pursuit, retreat, or a combination of both.

And as I pondered that this week, my wiffle ball story came to mind.

But really, I can look back over my life and marriage and see it all over the place.

When I think my wife is pulling away, I assume she’s angry with me and so I press in to make sure we’re okay. Or…sometimes I pull away to protect myself.

I can see it in the grief I feel if a friend doesn’t seem to care as much as I do.

Or when I try to be fiercely loyal only to be met with detached indifference.

In fact, if I’m honest, I can see how I have asked this question repeatedly over the years, and how it can become, if we’re not careful, a hamster wheel of insecurity.

But lately, I am trying to answer this question by turning to the One who promises to always be there.

I am trying to take this question directly to God.

I am not perfect at this, believe me.

I still find myself “protesting” in my relationships or at least being tempted to.

If I sense someone is angry with me, I try to make things right.

If I believe a person is unfairly pulling away from me, I might protest by withdrawing into myself.

But I am noticing these tendencies more. I am paying attention. And when I do catch myself, I am taking the feelings to my Father….to Abba.

That’s not an easy step in my spiritual walk. I often feel like the little boy who was scared of the dark and whose mother told him not to worry because God was with him, to which the boy replied, “I know God is with me, but I want somebody with skin on!”

But I am taking the question to Him anyway because the promise is that He cares, and that He is present. Always.

No matter how I FEEL, the promise is that the Lord WILL be there for me, and I am trying to lean into that.

So, let me ask all of you…how do you ask the question?

When your spouse is scrolling on their phone instead of listening to you, do you ask it?

When they are working late AGAIN……does it pop into your head?

And when the answer seems to be in jeopardy, how do you respond?

Do you get angry and press them? “We’re going to resolve this right now!”

Do you get quiet and retreat into the garage or into your reading?

And how does the question show up between you and God?

Are you taking it TO Him, or are you asking it OF Him?

Do you believe He is the answer to the question, or do you wonder if He’s there at all?

And if it’s the latter, how do you “protest?”

Do you get angry at Him?

Earn His love?

Do you withdraw? Avoid prayer? Maybe even set Him aside to pursue something with “skin on?”

Are you running away because you feel alone and unseen?

If so, please allow me to take you back to story. My bike. My tears. And the brother who came after me.

When I tearfully protested, “you’re my brother! You’re supposed to be on my side!” what could have happened was that my brother could have scolded me for my immaturity. He could have scoffed at the insecurities of his little brother. He could have told me to stop being a baby and to come home with him.

But he didn’t.

I don’t remember all his words, but I remember that, with tears in his own eyes, he assured me that he loved me, and that he was there for me. And just like that…..I felt safe and loved again.

I don’t know how your spouse is answering “the question” for you. I don’t know how you’re protesting in your marriage or friendships or with your siblings.

But if you feel alone in your faith…at the mercy of a world where you feel abandoned…..if your heart is weeping, and you’re riding your  proverbial bike to nowhere….pay attention.

Because there is One who is coming after you.