feeling the tug on my hand

My father was a Mets fan.

He wasn’t a die hard fan, but we did go to several ball games in Flushing while we were growing up. We sat in the upper deck, where the seats were cheap and the fans were rowdy. I remember the sight of the green, green grass of the outfield and reddish infield dirt. Mom would sneak snacks in her huge bag and we’d be eating pretzels out of Ziploc bags instead of hot dogs from the vendor who was pacing around us. My sisters and I would bring our little baseball gloves because there was a chance, just MAYBE a chance, that a rouge foul ball would come our way and we would somehow catch it. I suspect my father was humoring us, but I LOVED wearing my glove during the game.


I’ve always loved wearing a baseball glove.

My father and I would play catch in our backyard when we lived in Peekskill, NY. It was one of the only activities that we did exclusively. Even though we used a tennis ball, I can still feel the tug on my hand, catching one of his throws. It was something that I could do right, when I felt so much else that I did was wrong in his eyes. He was the one who would ask to stop because I would’ve stayed out there with him forever. 

I suppose now I’m a Yankee fan. Not a die hard fan, but the YES Network (Yankee Entertainment & Sports) is on at my place A LOT during the summer. The low drone of the crowd, the low voices of the announcers and the sporadic excitement of a homerun comforts me. I don’t know how many other single women have a ballgame on in the background of their lives, but I make no apologies! In a very small way it keeps my father with me and I am comforted.



2 Responses to “feeling the tug on my hand”

  1. August 4, 2007 at 8:48 pm

    Thanks for the memories. Everyone here below the Mason Dixon busts on the Yankees, but there is something magical about New York and baseball… Great post about Dad. What a great narrative to put words on your process of remembering.

  2. 2 Jill
    August 6, 2007 at 1:23 am

    I tried playing baseball with you guys a few times… but something about the way my elbow stuck out got in the way of my throwing ‘right’. Baseball was one of the things that I didn’t do right I suppose, but I’m glad you had that time with Dad. I had my soccer practices (not many of course) with him and those few cross-country races that one year when he cheered me on. Oh- and I was scared that a foul ball would come toward us at those baseball games. I was more interested in Mom’s snacks- I loved the M&Ms in dixie cups.

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