With the romanticized notion of father and son’s first game together firmly planted in my head, I set off with the family to the ballpark. Nevermind the fact he is four months old and barely knows what his hands are, let alone a baseball diamond. Shortly after settling into our seats it became readily apparent that our son was in fact four months old.
It was a nice thought and inspired dreams of what still lies ahead. Before I know it my son and I will be enjoying games together, and he will actually know what’s going on. Soon, I hope to enjoy a game in person with him as much as he seems to enjoy games on television. It’s probably the flashing lights and colors more than his enjoyment of televised baseball.
But nonetheless, today was a glimpse into the future. Today was the start of a time honored tradition. One that spans generations and builds die-hard fans for life. But today was also a four month old’s first exposure to 30,000 plus screaming fans.
By the bottom of the sixth inning, after countless attempts at sleep only to be interrupted by cheers and jeers, my son could take no more. But he came, he saw, and he experienced. We saw his first double play, first strikeout, first run, and first home run. We sat with him during his first ceremonial first pitch, his first National Anthem, and his first seventh inning stretch (up on the concourse, but still there).
It was a start, and it was an exciting taste of the bond baseball ignites. Give it a year or two. Give it time for the taste to build into a passion. Before I know it, my son and I will be eating hot dogs and peanuts, watching batting practice, and loving baseball together.
Today was a good day.