I figured it up - 21 years ago this spring, I began my weekly/bi-weekly pilgrimage to the ball park. I've coached, screamed, laughed and been irate for lo those many seasons.
Soccer has never held the same fascination for me as baseball. There's just something about the white baseball, the symmetry of the diamond (oh, yes, I LOVE that word!), and the elegance of the perfect double play.
My oldest stood in the outfield at the tender age of 4, picking dandelions and making chains with them. Staring at the clouds, kicking the dirt - doing everything but pay attention. Then - fast forward 14 years - a more determined and aggressive player you'd never find. Not the most talented member of the team by any means, she had to work harder and smarter to keep her beloved position at 2nd base. Never giving an inch, she barreled down the baseline with no quarter for the poor position player who hoped to get her out. Giving her all. Every game.
So I guess I will be traveling to the ballpark for the next 14 years. That means I'll be 64 in my folding lawn chair - cheering for what most everyone will assume to be my grandson.
Here's to the great American pastime!