I am not always as good a person as I want to be. Sometimes I don't put others before me and wish I did, sometimes I forget something thoughtful that I wish I had done. I think I'm better than when I was younger, but it's still something I want and try to be better at.
So it makes me glad when I see my children being better about it than I; makes me optimistic for the future and hopeful that whatever I and we have done wrong with them, we are doing some things right.
- Jack and Kate argue and bicker like any siblings, I imagine, but on several occasions recently I have seen Jack (who's older and should be better, Kate's only 4, I understand) be the bigger person (since he is). At the Great Strides CF Walk yesterday, she liked his sticker more than hers and was crying about it (she was very behind on sleep). He immediately traded with her, and I think he clearly liked the one he gave up better.
- On Saturday, at the Baseball League All-Star Day, his best friend Nick (at least it's his favorite friend, I think he might be closer with Brian, but Nick is the boy everyone loves...natural athlete, that's how it goes) was on the semifinal Tug of War team, and Jack wanted to stay around to watch. Nick's team lost in the championship, and I saw Jack go over and pat him on the back and say he was sorry or something. It's just not the kind of thing you automatically expect from a 7-year-old boy, and it was pretty cool.
- At the conclusion of the Great Strides Walk, eating our lunch, Jack noticed a big posterboard where people could write on it "Why they walked." He pointed it out to me, and I said, Oh, that's nice. I wasn't necessarily going to go any further with it myself, but Jack knelt down, grabbed the marker, and carefully wrote out, "I walked for my Dad's brother, Scott." Put the marker down, got up, and we all headed home. Feeling pretty great.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Tuesday, May 08, 2012
Mets game
Jack's first pro baseball game was in Colorado, and he was about 6 or 7 months old at most. We arrived in the 2nd inning, quickly moved from our crowded seats to an open spot way in back, and hung out with him for about 4 innings before clearing out. His second was Sunday, with us taking him to see the Mets against the team the Rockies may well have been playing 6 years ago, Arizona. So possibly it was his second Diamondbacks game.
This time we arrived an hour early, since I had no idea that you could park and walk up to their new Stadium from about 100 yards away like you were going to a movie. Whereas last time Jack was wearing, I believe, a sleeper, this time he was wearing a Mets jacket -- and not just any Mets jacket. Emily's, from when she was about 14 years old, which we had in our attic (and for some reason I knew this). It was a little big on him, but I don't think we'll ever be able to get him to wear another jacket, at least for a while; he's been wearing it every day and seems ridiculously happy (and Emily ridiculously proud).
We parked and headed in, Jack leaving his Little League ballcap in the car because he was determined to get a Mets hat. Right inside the gates, we bought an official program and grabbed a couple of pencils, just like Dad and I used to do every time we went. I wonder how many people do today? Anyway, we got the program, grabbed a couple of pencils, and went to the first Souvenir stand to buy Jack's Mets hat. And a stuffed Mr. Met for Kate. Uh, and one for Jack. (That evening they had a stuffed mascot party, with Wally, Molly, the Mr. Mets, and the Bridgeport Bluefish mascots...I don't know what their names are.)
Since it was lunch time, Jack also wanted to get food. Right away. But since we entered the opposite side of the stadium from our seats, I impressed upon him the need to get to our seats, first. "OK," he said. "Let's go now." Uh, don't you want to walk down close to the field? We finally convinced him to do that, which was kind of cool. I think we were more into it than he was. Citi Field doesn't have the presence or charisma of Fenway Park (uh, Obviously!) but it sure is shiny and new.
We found our way to our seats, sat down, and I immediately got up to get hotdogs and beer and lemonade. Came back, Jack ate the thing in 2 seconds, and I got up to get more. Finally we were full and only had to wait another 20 minutes or so for the game to start. We all stood for the National Anthem, removed our hats ("Why?" asked Jack. Sign of respect, I said.), so on and so forth. Emily helped Jack write the names of both starting lineups into the program, and when the game started, we took turns showing him how to keep score. It was awesome and we scored it for about three innings, which is probably how long Dad and I did it most games.
David Wright is the Mets' best player, and he wears the same No. 5 that Jack does for Little League, so he's now Jack's favorite player. And he got a hit his first time up, so he's officially now Jack's version of Jim Rice. Second favorite is the pitcher, knuckleballer R.A. Dickey, and he might be my favorite Met after reading a story about him in Sports Illustrated a couple of weeks ago; he's a literate guy. (And baseball's only knuckleballer, apparently, after Tim Wakefield retired.) Was throwing a no-hitter until a fourth-inning bloop that I thought was foul, ended up throwing a shutout until the 9th, at which point he and the bullpen nearly blew it and two of the three outs were warning track shots, including the final one, a would-be tying 2-run homer that was caught with the outfielder's back against the wall. Emily and I breathed a huge sigh of relief, not wanting Jack's first remembered game to end as badly as it nearly did.
(I tried to remember my first baseball game. I think it was Chuck Rainey and the Sox winning by a 4-3 or 3-2 score. Yes, Dad? My best memory was us going to see the first game of a day-night doubleheader, the Sox losing badly, and us being depressed and not wanting the game to end that way, so we bought tickets to the night game outside the park and the Sox won a 4-3 thriller. If memory serves.)
After the game Jack got to run the bases with Mr. Met. Seriously! At Sunday afternoon home games they let kids 12 and under line up with their parents outside the park, enter through the bullpen, and the kids run the bases. Emily and I snapped pictures but were too far and they were too small. But I suspect none of us will ever forget anyway.
We got home with enough time for me to pitch to Jack in the backyard a little bit. I don't know if he pretended to be David Wright or not.
This time we arrived an hour early, since I had no idea that you could park and walk up to their new Stadium from about 100 yards away like you were going to a movie. Whereas last time Jack was wearing, I believe, a sleeper, this time he was wearing a Mets jacket -- and not just any Mets jacket. Emily's, from when she was about 14 years old, which we had in our attic (and for some reason I knew this). It was a little big on him, but I don't think we'll ever be able to get him to wear another jacket, at least for a while; he's been wearing it every day and seems ridiculously happy (and Emily ridiculously proud).
We parked and headed in, Jack leaving his Little League ballcap in the car because he was determined to get a Mets hat. Right inside the gates, we bought an official program and grabbed a couple of pencils, just like Dad and I used to do every time we went. I wonder how many people do today? Anyway, we got the program, grabbed a couple of pencils, and went to the first Souvenir stand to buy Jack's Mets hat. And a stuffed Mr. Met for Kate. Uh, and one for Jack. (That evening they had a stuffed mascot party, with Wally, Molly, the Mr. Mets, and the Bridgeport Bluefish mascots...I don't know what their names are.)
Since it was lunch time, Jack also wanted to get food. Right away. But since we entered the opposite side of the stadium from our seats, I impressed upon him the need to get to our seats, first. "OK," he said. "Let's go now." Uh, don't you want to walk down close to the field? We finally convinced him to do that, which was kind of cool. I think we were more into it than he was. Citi Field doesn't have the presence or charisma of Fenway Park (uh, Obviously!) but it sure is shiny and new.
We found our way to our seats, sat down, and I immediately got up to get hotdogs and beer and lemonade. Came back, Jack ate the thing in 2 seconds, and I got up to get more. Finally we were full and only had to wait another 20 minutes or so for the game to start. We all stood for the National Anthem, removed our hats ("Why?" asked Jack. Sign of respect, I said.), so on and so forth. Emily helped Jack write the names of both starting lineups into the program, and when the game started, we took turns showing him how to keep score. It was awesome and we scored it for about three innings, which is probably how long Dad and I did it most games.
David Wright is the Mets' best player, and he wears the same No. 5 that Jack does for Little League, so he's now Jack's favorite player. And he got a hit his first time up, so he's officially now Jack's version of Jim Rice. Second favorite is the pitcher, knuckleballer R.A. Dickey, and he might be my favorite Met after reading a story about him in Sports Illustrated a couple of weeks ago; he's a literate guy. (And baseball's only knuckleballer, apparently, after Tim Wakefield retired.) Was throwing a no-hitter until a fourth-inning bloop that I thought was foul, ended up throwing a shutout until the 9th, at which point he and the bullpen nearly blew it and two of the three outs were warning track shots, including the final one, a would-be tying 2-run homer that was caught with the outfielder's back against the wall. Emily and I breathed a huge sigh of relief, not wanting Jack's first remembered game to end as badly as it nearly did.
(I tried to remember my first baseball game. I think it was Chuck Rainey and the Sox winning by a 4-3 or 3-2 score. Yes, Dad? My best memory was us going to see the first game of a day-night doubleheader, the Sox losing badly, and us being depressed and not wanting the game to end that way, so we bought tickets to the night game outside the park and the Sox won a 4-3 thriller. If memory serves.)
After the game Jack got to run the bases with Mr. Met. Seriously! At Sunday afternoon home games they let kids 12 and under line up with their parents outside the park, enter through the bullpen, and the kids run the bases. Emily and I snapped pictures but were too far and they were too small. But I suspect none of us will ever forget anyway.
We got home with enough time for me to pitch to Jack in the backyard a little bit. I don't know if he pretended to be David Wright or not.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
