My son plays Little League baseball. He is already wildly superstitious at age nine. For luck, he wears socks in mismatched colors or a cheap necklace or an unwashed baseball cap. Sometimes, he wears them all at once. Whatever he does, it seems to work well for him. He gets big hits, makes great plays, pitches good games.

Out in the bleachers, I wish I had a lucky charm to help me through the baseball season. Like every parent in the bleachers, all I want is for my son to be successful, but baseball is no picnic in that department. Failure is a much more likely outcome than success, even when you’re one of the best. Batting .300 means getting an out seven out of ten at-bats. By the end of the season, I’m wiped out.

The other day, my son asked me, “Mom, is it possible to bat 1.000?”

I replied in a kindly tone, “No, buddy. That would mean for a whole season you’d never make an out hitting. It would mean you’d have to be perfect.”

He thought about it a moment. Then he nodded and said matter-of-factly, “That sounds hard, but I bet I could do it.”

Man, I need one of those lucky charms really bad.