I am not sure why but I have very few childhood memories - maybe it is an age thing - but one of my favorites is a faint one of me and my dad at an Atlanta Braves game. I don't know which game it was and I have no idea which team won. Hank Aaron would have had several at bats but I don't really remember seeing him play. I also have no idea how old I was but I couldn't have been more than five. (Aaron played with the Braves until '74 when he broke Babe Ruth's home run record on April 8th - 8 days before my 5th birthday.)
I remember barely being able to see over the backs of the chairs at Fulton County Stadium. I remember sitting on my father's lap. I remember the tiny sip of beer (probably MGD or PBR). I remember holding his hand as we left the stadium. I remember his joy at the game. I remember feeling loved.
Over the years, when I would see my dad on summer vacations, we went to a game every now and then but mostly we listened to them on the radio while he tried to teach me to play tennis or golf. To his great frustration, I wasn't very good at either.
He taught me to score a game and would ask me about stats but I wasn't that into keeping track of infield flies, errors, or even who won. He grew annoyed at me for my lack of focus and our visits to the park were fewer and far between.
When I was 21, we went to a game again. It had been a rough few years and our relationship was, for many reasons, ending. This time it was the '91 season. The Braves had started to win again (they would go from last to first that season). I had my own beer, we bought a scorecard and, for a moment, we were just a dad and his daughter enjoying the game. I don't need the long-lost ticket or scorecard to tell me that it was a perfect day and that the Braves won. I just know in my heart it was and they did.
My dad died a few years ago. I really miss him at this time of year and I think of him often during baseball season. He didn't leave me with much except that I am definitely a baseball fan. I still don't know a lot of stats. (Occasionally, I can impress someone with a well-done scorecard.) I just I love the game. I will go to any baseball game I can and have been known to schedule trips around which ball parks I haven't been to yet.
So a friend called the other day to see if I wanted to go to Stephen Strasburg's first major league start with the Washington Nationals. I jumped at the chance and I'm so glad I did. It was a gorgeous night. The park was packed. Everyone was smiling and happy. Strasburg did not disappoint. He pitched seven innings, threw 14 strikeouts (seven consecutive) and the Nats won. It was a night to remember. One for the history books.
After the game, as I waited to enter the Metro, I found myself next to a man and his young daughter. She was about seven and clutching her Build-A-Screech. The crowd was pushing and he asked her to hold his hand. She looked up at him and said something like, "Daddy that was the best game ever". He smiled at her and said something like, "it sure was."
I lost them in the scrum a few seconds later but I am guessing that little girl will always remember that day. The day her dad took her to a baseball game, smiled at her, took her hand and loved her.
