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Charlie will play organized baseball for the first time tonight. He's super excited. It's also the first time he will have a coach other than me. I've coached Charlie's soccer team for the past few seasons.

This doesn't make me nervous though. It actually allows me to have my eyes on him a little closer now that I won't be dodging soccer balls launched at my head or wearing 40-pound children as slippers. But it does necessitate some fair warning to the coach regarding Charlie's diabetes. Not just for safety purposes. I like the coach and I don't want to put him in an embarrassing situation.

What if he sees Charlie sitting in the dugout looking down on his pump and he says, "Come on, Charlie! Put away the Game Boy. We need you in the field."

Or what if Charlie is munching on a granola bar while stationed at third base?

"Uh, Charlie? Do you see anyone else eating?"

Now I don't expect this will happen, but what if we have to, for some reason, give Charlie a manual needle injection to bring down his blood sugar.

"Charlie! Pick up your pants! We don't moon the opposing team in baseball! Even if they are the Cubs."

Hopefully, this will avoid minor foot-in-mouth moments such as the one I experienced over the weekend when I showed up to my daughter's softball practice with Charlie.

"Hey, nice bag," the coach said jokingly, pointing to my puffy black case that had pictures of rocket ships on it. Perhaps he thought it was filled with little plastic army men or stuffed with Matchbox cars or scented baby wipes. Unbeknownst to him, the contents of the bag help me keep my son alive.

I chuckled politely.

Then I threw the bag up in the air and with fists flying I showed the group of 8-year-old girls the proper technique for charging the mound.