I'm sure I would have had a huge goofy smile on my face watching Charlie play baseball even if he was free of disease. But something about watching the kid with diabetes out-hustle every other kid on the field, just made my heart burst wide open with pride.

He wasn't the fastest. He didn't hit the ball the furthest. He didn't throw the hardest. But sweet lord, that little firecracker played with passion.

Planted on the pitcher's mound, he became an instant fan favorite by throwing his body in front of sharply hit line drives destined for the deep edges of the outfield. The parents and coaches laughed as he looked like a hockey goalie under assault, flopping around on the ground, making save after save.

Before practice, I wondered what to do with the pump.

"Charlie, how about we take the pump off for practice."

"What?" Charlie said fearfully. "No!"

"But wouldn't you rather have it off while you play?"

"Uh uh," he said, now getting upset and holding on to the pump like it was the Holy Grail.

"Why do you want it?"

"I don't know," he said. "Because it's fun."

Fun?

So we left the pump on, putting it safely in his soft blue pump case and snapping the belt tightly around his waste. I tucked in his tubing and the excess belt strap as if Charlie was a TV and I was in the back, working on the cable. Always tucking. Always concealing.

After the practice, I stop myself from having the talk. The one that reassures him that he can do anything he wants to and that diabetes doesn't have to stand in his way.

Why even put the thought in his head? It's never occurred to him.

"I'm a pretty good baseball player, right dad?"

"You were great!"

He points proudly at the dirt stains on his new uniform. He wears them like medals of honor.

"I think I'm like 100 good."