About the time that I started talking, my father realized that I would never be the Daddy's Girl he had always wanted his daughter to be. This was fine with both of us since he still had my brother to dote on, and I got extra attention from my mother. My teenage years were tumultuous at best, openly hostile at worst, with barely any middle ground for my father and I to meet on. It seemed to both of us that the only things we had in common were our stubbornness, our big mouths, and our obstinate personalities, none of which make for a smooth parent-child relationship. Just when all hope seemed lost for the two of us to ever have any semblance of a relationship, my father and I found a place we could mutually agree upon: baseball. It began on Monday, April 5, 1993. It was the Florida Marlins' inaugural game at Joe Robbie Stadium, now called Pro Player Stadium. That was my first major league baseball game, ever. I was 17.
I know that I wasn't my father's first choice of a companion that day. My mother and brother were both out of town, as were most of my father's friends. Lacking any other choice to use the spare ticket he had to that game, he took me. To be fair, as a lifetime Yankees fan the Florida Marlins would not have been my first choice for a first professional game, either. The drive up to Joe Robbie Stadium that morning was silent, with neither one of us sure what to say to the other. The last time the two of us had done anything together without my mother or brother was when I was 11. It was painfully obvious that we were awkward and uncomfortable at being alone together. I had it figured for a very, very long day that I would need months of therapy to deal with.
Before the game started they showed a wonderful montage of clips from every baseball movie and television moment in American history. Joe DiMaggio threw out the ceremonial first pitch. For me that thrill was twofold: not only was Joe D. the greatest living ball player and a former Yankee, but I, for some reason, had thought that he was already dead. Dad bought me a hot dog, a soda and a pretzel. He gave me a program before the game and taught me how to keep the box score. He seemed to know everything about every player on the field and told me all sorts of stats about them. Between innings the giant screen over center field broadcast baseball trivia questions. My father knew every single answer, and deep down inside I became very proud of him. As the game progressed I dutifully recorded every first for the Marlins: the first batter, the first strikeout, the first single, double, triple, the first fly-out, and so on. At one point my father put his arm around my shoulders and told me how great it was that we were together for this historic moment. 42,334 fans watched "The Fish", as they would come to be nicknamed, beat the Dodgers 6-3 that day, and my father and I were among them.
On the drive on the way home that day there was not a single moment of silence between my father and I. We reviewed the entire game from start to finish and made predictions on the future of the Marlins. Dad framed the tickets from the game and hung them up in the family room for all to see. A week later he bought me a Marlins baseball cap. For the first time ever I knew what it was like to have a father that I loved, admired, and respected. The novelty of that feeling still hasn't worn off, eight years later. I am still amazed that an entire relationship can be forged during nine innings.
These days I live in New York City and get to go to the Yankees games I've always wanted to. Now I buy the hot dogs, sodas and pretzels for myself. My dad actually calls me up to talk about baseball. When I have to travel abroad during baseball season my father will call me, wherever I am in the world, to give me Yankee scores and play-by-plays. I still follow the Marlins because my dad still goes to their games, and we talk about them as well. Like most Americans I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't know the game, but I ask my dad if I ever have questions. There are other people I can ask, and with the advent of the Internet there are web sites I can visit, but I ask my dad. We've finally found middle ground to stand on - and it's a baseball field. And when it's not baseball season we've discovered basketball and movies together, because after all not everything in life can be a Yankees game.
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