Take Me out to the Ball Game

I took my Youngest Daughter to her very first Red Sox game today. Lucky for her it was a coveted game against our most hated rivals the NY Yankees. As we arrived at the ballpark I saw a family where a father had dressed his young children in Yankees gear. I joked to my wife that somebody should call Child Protective Services to report him. As I was leaving the ballpark after another soul-crushing loss, I reflected that perhaps I should be the one who gets reported for child abuse. I mean, what am I doing here? By teaching her to be a Red Sox fan, I am pretty much setting her up for a lifetime of gut-wrenching disappointment. I might as well be punching her in the stomach and telling her how much fun it is. Ugh.

Ah well, a bad day at the ballpark is still a million times better than a good day at the office. Especially when you can drown your sorrows in a heaping plate of Louisian Chicken Pasta at The Cheesecake Factory and chase it down with a slice of Snickers Cheesecake. The only other downside to the day was when the Hostess at the restaurant mistook my 20-year-old sister-in-law for my daughter. "Three Daughters!" she says, "Aren't you Lucky?!" Yes. Yes I am.



Here is a picture of my three "Daughters" at the ballpark.