One of my earliest memories is of baseball. I suppose that’s fitting, considering I basically grew up a Red Sox fan.
It was October 1986 and I was 3 years old. My mom was at work, and it was just my dad and I. We were watching TV in the kitchen, with the TV turned into the doorway like it always was in the house I grew up in.
We were watching game 6 of the World Series, Boston Red Sox verses the New York Mets. I remember vividly sitting at the table while my dad pounded on it, shouting “no, NO!!!” at the TV.
It was only years later that I understood. The game we were watching together was the one when Bill Buckner allowed the ball to roll through his legs, letting the Mets score the winning run. The Mets went on to win the World Series, and the Red Sox were thwarted, yet again. (They hadn’t won a series since 1918, and wouldn’t until 2004).
I understood all too well the feeling my dad had when, 17 years later, I watched the Red Sox come thisclose to the World Series and choke. I walked into the house that weekend and said, “Dad, I feel like I lost my best friend.”
“Now, you know,” he said. “Now, you know.”
Yes, now I know what it was like all those years ago, when a little 3 year old stared at her dad, wondering why he was getting so upset. Now I know.
This post inspired by Mama Kat’s writing prompt: Share you earliest childhood memory. How old were you? Why was it memorable?