- November 18, 2024
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I recently had the chance to take my three kids to a Daytona Cubs game at Jackie Robinson Ballpark. My wife stayed home to get ready for my son’s birthday party the next day, and, I expect, to avoid the heat and stickiness of June baseball.
As we arrived (late) at the stadium, we heard the crowd cheering, and my 4-year-old daughter, Ellie, got nervous. “Daddy,” she said, “we’re going to miss the part when they hit the ball.”
Fortunately, there was more action later in the game.
But of course, the kids’ favorite part of the excursion was the concession stand. Every inning or two, they got hungry — mostly, it seems, out of boredom. If I would have handed them a hot dog in a soggy bun wrapped in aluminum foil at home, I might have been met with frowns and snarls. Give them the same food at the ballpark, and pay extra for the privilege, and it’s an exciting adventure. My 7-year-old son, Grant, exulted, “I can feel the food going to my kidneys!”
To me, there is nothing more peaceful than sitting in the bleachers at a baseball game. On TV, you hear the crack of the bat, and the camera shows the outfielder running to cut off the ball in the corner. But when you see the game in person, you can also watch the runner dig past second, the shortstop race out for the cutoff throw, the second baseman back him up, the third baseman ready to block the bag, and the pitcher curl around toward the dugout in case the ball squirts past. Safe! A triple!
The kids noticed other things in the crowd.
“Why are people hitting cowbells?” Grant asked. “There’s no cows here.”
Meanwhile, Ellie picked up another handful of someone’s discarded peanut shells and pushed them through the chain-link fence onto walkway below the bleachers.
At 10 years old, Jackson is my oldest, and he follows the game, reading players’ stats out of the program. He’s at that age when I know he will remember these outings clearly, just as I remember going to games with my dad and watching his reaction to the plays, seeing how, even as an old, bald man who wore suits and ties to work, he cared enough about the moment to shout words of encouragement to these young men jogging out of the dugout to take their positions.
I took advantage of this outing, just me and the kids. I put my arm around Jackson, and Ellie threw her arms around my neck and dangled off my back. Grant sat close to me, chewing his fingernails, counting down the innings until we could go home.
And I felt the breeze coming off the water and watched the man walking back and forth under the scoreboard as he flicked on another light — ball three — to indicate that the count was now full, and I tried to focus on this next pitch and forget about the future.
