After all the food sharing and plane seat juggling, we landed back home from Vancouver. I could not return text messages while in Canada, thanks worlds-worst-cell-phone plan, so it didn’t really matter that I wasn’t overly tuned in to the text message I initially missed the day we were making our embarrassing journey home.
The next day I realized that I had missed a group text from my family. Group text. My family. Double whammy.
My sister, Marie, wondered it anyone would want to attend a Chicago White Sox game Aug. 10th- Saturday night. Or the 11th. Coach will be out of town teaching in Rhode Island. If that location is close to you and you want to hear someone talk endlessly about various muscle groups and rehab procedures - maybe you can sign up.
I have zero interest in attending a Sox game (almost as much as I would in attending a physical therapy lecture). I grew up attending Sox games regularly. We could only take advantage of these opportunities when we had a night off from watching Pat and Mike’s little league baseball games. Translation: constant baseball. Big leagues or little. bug spray and sweatshirt always at the ready.
Coach and I took our kids to Sox games when they were younger. Sometimes we were able to sit in the fancy boxes when we got tickets thru Coach's work. In case you were wondering - yes, I am one of those born and bred hate-the-Cubs Chicagoans. It is a real thing. My family were die hard Sox fans, so NO - we never took the kids to see the Cubs play. Coach could root for either - but that goes against my religion.
There was a time when I felt bad that my kids lost interest in baseball. I felt disoriented. What would I do with myself if I wasn't hanging out at a ball field? It was all I knew.
Then it happened. I discovered the joy of indoor sports like water polo. I became addicted to the fast paced game that ended in under an hour (UNDER AN HOUR!) from when it started. No weather issues to contend with. Who needs baseball?
The parenthesis part of the text message from Marie to my siblings and I left a taste in my mouth worse than stale ball park popcorn (not like the random prized white cheddar shit I stumbled on in Vancouver). From Marie: 'I promised Dad as part of my Father’s Day gift that I would organize a family White Sox game.’
Shit. Seems like this might have been a big error on your part, Marie. Not sure you can deliver on this promise.
Maybe I am just envious of her carefully considered gift that Dad will love. An area where I have struggled. Yes, that story is up next. I am working backwards here. Not sure why. Blame my left handedness.