The Pilgrimage

The demands of life and unanticipated piles of traffic meant our adventure began a bit behind schedule. All it required was one "Papa" to make everything right.

This was our annual pilgrimage. My daughter, son in law and now 6 year old granddaughter on our way to the ballpark. The images floating in my head clearly not aligned with those of the one whose smile lives in my heart.

Thus when the game began and we were still on the road, it registered not with her. And when Aaron Judge homered in the last of the first while we were still parking the car, her world was not irreparably damaged.

At the moment she does not know a ball from a strike or fair from foul. But she definitely has perfect recall of exactly where they serve ice cream in this place.

We arrived at our seats in the top of the second. I surveyed the landscape, saw the big number 1 on the scoreboard for my team, and settled in. After the second pitch I witnessed, a request was made of me. And so, holding the hand of a six year old, we walked back up the stairs and onto the concourse. Headed straight for the ice cream. With rainbow sprinkles.

During this outing, the other team tied the score. How, I still have no idea.

She spent the next two innings focused on the little helmet that contained the chocolate and vanilla, and of course, those sprinkles. My gaze alternating between her and what was transpiring on the field below. Which was nothing of consequence (with the game, I mean). Not a hit or a walk for my guys. Nada.

When the last of the ice cream disappeared from view, the contest had moved to the top of the fifth. Still even. And the next undertaking of our scheduled programming was about to start.

We have a prescribed sequence of events here. After the food portion of the schedule is completed, the hunt for the perfect stuffed animal and other sundry reminders of the consumer economy commences. Once more into the breach.

While we were roaming through the Yankee team store I am told my side hit another home run. I neither saw it nor had word this had actually transpired until we later returned to our assigned location. Actually, it was not even the same spot, as we had moved from our seats in the sun back a number of rows to be embraced by the slightly cooler shade. But I digress.

There is a three year old, not quite ready for prime time, who was spending the afternoon in the company of his uncle and grandma while we frolicked here. Thus my young ward and I had our own mandate to buy two of everything we selected. Two Yankee stuffies. Two Yankee shirts with unicorns thrown in for a bit of panache.

It was the home team's turn at bat in the sixth when we finished this undertaking. The score, two for us and one for them. I had seen none of that. Not a lick.

She was still very happy, very content. Clutching her stuffy and generally just living la vida loca.

The seventh was in the rear view mirror when she announced she was now ready for chicken fingers and French fries. But the lines were too long and the contemplations of a traffic jam too real for us to tarry longer. And so, to the exits we went.

It turns out the bad guys scored twice after we did our Elvis and thus my boys were on the wrong end of the score at day's end. I got to witness not a moment of anyone crossing home plate today. Not a majestic home run. Not the cheers or groans as matters turned right or wrong. Not the greatness of Judge nor the anguish at the finale. It was as though I had not been there at all.

And yet it was most definitely one of the best days I have ever had at a game.