That Sentimental Feeling

Last week we called in reinforcements.

The babysitter (aka Brett's cousin's daughter whom we lovingly refer to as "cousin Rylee") came over.

Mom and Dad had invited us to Opening Day of the Seattle Mariner's baseball season and we were beyond thrilled to go. Not only for the much-needed vacation from our darling offspring (and cold beer), but also because we enjoy a good baseball game (and cold beer), especially in those seats.

It's funny, not having been in the baseball mindset since August, it seemed like it had only been moments since we'd made our way through the security, up the stairs with the thousands of other fans and into our seats ready for the game to begin.

Mom hugged our row "attendant" (I am sure she has a much more official and eloquent name, but I am at a loss as to what that may be) like an old friend she hadn't seen since college. And she gave nods and "hello's" to the fellow ticket-holders surrounding us whom she's gotten to know quite well over the years. It was a reunion, of sorts. A baseball reunion.

The field was gleaming under the dozens of red, white and blue buntings that only come out for such special occasions and the grass was groomed in beautiful, perfect, over-lapping lines (I wish I could get my front yard to look like that).

We were baseball ready.

The ceremonies began. The National Anthem was sung.

I had a great view during that:

I looked around at the crowd, all of us enjoy this uniquely "American" sport, all of us bringing a bit of nostalgia with us, all of us (although from many, many different walks of life and viewpoints), all of us listening to the beginning of baseball, all at once.

And my eyes welled up.

And then the 10-year-old heart transplant recipient ran the bases.

And that made my insides leap from my chest like a freight train. Id better flag down this fellow to provide me with the official beverage of baseball: a cold beer, to warm my icy heart.

Oh, how I have missed you, Beer Guy.

Just when I relaxed enough to regain my composure, I glanced over at the cup holders next to me. Granted, these were not the cup holders of frat boys, these guys were my age (at least).

Am I missing something?

Since when do we taint our hops with gummy worms?

After my shock was over I settled back into my baseball mindset, just like it was yesterday when I had last sat in these folding seats and peeled the shells off peanuts. Under the blue sky, as I watched the first inning, the new uniforms on the new players and listened to the striking of the ball off the metal bat, I was overwhelmed with that sentimental feeling, that yearning for something missing, that ache.

This is why:




Wyatt's first baseball game is tonight.

Baseball Ready.