Baseball: A Game That Always Brings You Home

Living abroad is never easy, but it can be highly rewarding.  

I've been very lucky the past several years to live, work, and travel in places I either read or dreamt about as a child.  Making things even more exciting is having the love of your life join you on such an adventure to keep thinking of crazy things to do in life and simultaneously keep you sane. 

Over the course of time we've had so much fun that we've even decided to bring along the dog every step of the way, and 18 months ago added a baby boy to the mix.  

At the same time I'd be lying if I said that it's been nothing but fun.  For you see, living abroad you learn to live without a few things, and over time most become somewhat trivial, but some things you can't replace or find an adequate substitute for...like family, friends, or baseball.  

Baseball?

Growing up it was...everything, whether I liked it or not.  

In short, my grandfather worked for the New York Mets. He also played for the Braves when they were still in Boston, and the Dodgers when they were still in Brooklyn.  For more than 90 years he lived an incredible life and never worked a day of it.  

I loved and envied him all at the same time and perhaps more than anything enjoyed attending games with him, as he would view them through the eyes of someone who really knew what he was looking at.

He'd quiz me throughout the game asking whether the runner should go, what pitch was coming, which base should the outfielder should throw towards, and so on.  

Part of me just wanted a hot dog or mini helmet sundae, but I'd have to earn it first or simply beg my grandmother to go instead.  For you see, she would also be there, right on the other side of me making sure I ate, but making sure I knew the score, the count, and any other details a kid with a mouthful of ice cream with hot fudge and rainbow sprinkles might miss.  

I consider myself extremely lucky to have had them in my life for more than three decades and wouldn't trade a minute of the time I spent with them.  

Like I said, living abroad as an American you miss family, and for me especially...baseball.  

On a recent trip home to the States I innocently posed a question to my father, curious to see his reaction.

"Do you think we could catch a game while we're here?"

After seeing him contemplate for a moment, I casually added, "The Braves will be in town for a matinee next Wednesday, so maybe we can take the baby and catch a few innings?"

Before I could open my mouth once more, he agreed and within minutes we were all set.  The hardest part it turned out was figuring out the tickets for the parking garage.

These days it takes a lot to get my Dad to a baseball game, but then again, it always did.  Growing up it was a two hour drive just to get to the ballpark and that's if traffic was moving.  He always did it without complaint, but it was never easy and we would often get home well past midnight if we stayed the whole game.  

Nowadays having retired down south, it's more the fact that the team he roots for is several hours drive north, so to have them come to town worked out nicely as the drive would only be about an hour down I-95.   

Of course he wasn't doing this as a favor for me you see, but for his grandson.      

At 18 months, my son is just starting to come into his own as he walks, talks (well mostly Klingon I gather?), and is developing his own personality that is an unholy combination of both I and my wife's "best" traits.  

Sure enough as we settled into our seats, he quickly became the star attraction versus the game itself in our section by cheering and dancing at the music that played between innings.

Yes, only my son would find the entertainment to keep everyone amused during a break in the action more enjoyable than the game itself.l But fortunately, all of our neighbors for the afternoon found this to be hilarious.  

Then before you knew it, he sat down in my lap and behaved...while eating a helmet sundae purchased by his grandfather and fed to him by his grandmother flanked on opposite sides of me.     

And with that it hit me.  

If you'd told me growing up that I'd be attending the first professional baseball game of my son's life with him sitting on my lap at a game in Miami, I'd have been confused and wondered, "Who are the Marlins?" 

If you'd told me that I would fly almost 10 hours with him sitting on my lap to get there, I'd have thought you were nuts and asked, "Why would I live overseas?"  

Instead I can only laugh and wonder.

Wonder what my grandparents would have thought to see us all sitting there watching my son simultaneously eating and wearing a helmet sundae as the game played on.  

I'd imagine they'd be amused and probably pleased to see that some traditions never die.  

At the end of the day though, they'd be very pleased to know the Braves won 7-1 over the Marlins and we actually made it past the seventh inning stretch, before everyone had had enough.  

Honestly though, the final score mattered little to me, but what did matter was the chance to share a very special bond, at a very special time, in a very special place.  

Through the course of time I've found that so many of life's lessons can be learned at the ballpark and on this day it became clear that no matter how far or for how long you travel, home really is where the heart is.

I know it's lame and a tad cliche, but when you live your life out of a suitcase, you sometimes live in denial of the truth.  You keep hoping that the next stop on the adventure will finally land you home only to realize that it's the adventure that sustains you.

So while I'm unsure when and where we will next get to a game, I am hopeful that it won't be our last for a while.  

After all, I suppose it is my duty to pass along what knowledge I can share with my son with the hope that he can understand these crazy games from his homeland. 

It won't be easy, but I know that with the help of family and friends it won't be impossible either, and perhaps we might pick up a few new games in our travels along the way.

You never know, in fact it might be my son teaching me how to play. 

Until then I'm sticking with what I know. And baseball, as strange and slow as it is, will always be at the top of my list.