As I sit here and watch the Red Sox try to win Game 2, I recall when the Sox won it all in 2004. Such an amazing time to be a fan, especially a fan that still had ‘the faith.’ Before it cost money to be a fan (ala Red Sox Nation) and before it cost several hundred dollars for a few folks to go to the game together and go grab a bite before or after. But I digress.
There are two moments I remember clearly during the playoffs and series in 2004. The first is just jumping off my chair when the Sox took the series from the Cardinals and hugging my husband. We were truly blissful that ‘The Curse’ had finally been broken, and we were fans on the winning side. We got to know those guys almost intimately – Damon, Veriteck, Millar, and of course my main men Pedro, Manny and Big Papi. That feeling of joy still makes me grin.
The other moment is actually a series of moments, of running home from work with Julia, who was almost four years old at the time, getting her positioned in front of the TV on her own little upholstered chair with the horses on it that Mimi and Papa got her, with a little tray to eat her supper off of, making dinner and watching the game and the child at the same time, each playoff game. Something to look forward to each night, and Julia went right along with the scurrying around, then the settling down to watch the game with her Mama. She would cheer for Big Papi and Pedro, mimicking me, taking her queue from her mom, her role model. She loved the game and she loved watching with me, with both of us. Jeremy worked nights in those days and sometimes Julia would just be going to bed when he got home to his tired, bleary eyed but happy girl. She was thrilled to see Daddy, but we gals took care of ourselves at night, and she was normally in bed and asleep by the time he got home.
Now as I watch the game upstairs, my husband downstairs in his make shift man cave, Julia is sound asleep, not caring about the game at all. She’s almost 13, and things are so different, which, though it’s as it should be, it still leaves me a little forlorn.
Julia loves basketball. She plays basketball and she’s not interested in too many other sports, though she is an outstanding soccer player and softball player. So this series, the Sox rebounding from one of their worst seasons ever, doesn’t resonate with her. She doesn’t remember cheering in front of the TV with her chicken nuggets in hand, or going to Subway with Jeremy one day and hugging the life-size cardboard cut out of Big Papi. Now her room is decorated with wall to wall pictures of One Direction, and she is fanatically obsessed with Niall Horan, the blond member of the boy band. No more dancing to George Harrison in my arms, swirling around the living room as a little one, smiling at me and trying to sing along to Isn’t it a Pity , or our favorite to dance to, I’d Have you Anytime
Let me in here, I know I’ve been here
Let me into your heart
Let me know you, let me show you
Let me roll it to you
All I have is yours
All you see is mine
And I’m glad to hold you in my arms
I’d have you anytime.
My favorites are no longer her favorites. She has her own favorites, which is as it should be. Not that it makes it hurt any less. Well maybe hurt is the wrong word. It’s more of a longing, to go back to the times when we’d watch The Little Mermaid, or Mary Poppins on the couch in the study, me lying down exhausted from work, her sitting on top of my back, singing to all the songs out loud. Or having a tea party picnic on the porch, me filling her tea-pot with apple juice,
It’s not as though we are in two totally different worlds though. Even though she can talk on and on to her father about basketball strategies, boxing out, picking and rolling, about her various teams, some coached by him, some not, I interject once in a while; but this is more theirs than mine. And that’s perfectly fine, it’s a wonderful bond they share and I’m happy for it.
So even though I don’t feel like she looks up to me the same way, and sometimes tries to banish me from her life (I can’t sing her music, as you may have ready before, and I can’t talk to her friends in certain situations without getting the rolling eyeballs), there are times when we are together, short and stolen moments that I cherish.
Sometimes, when she’s exhausted after playing four games in two days, she will crash on the couch next to me. Now it’s her turn to lie down and my turn to sit with her legs on my lap (Sitting on her is not an option, thankfully). But I rub her muscular calves and her tired feet and we watch “What Not to Wear,” or “Say Yes to the Dress,” or ‘The Voice,” and we will blurt out comments and opinions, and chatter like two girls. Yesterday she fell asleep on me while we were watching SpongeBob Squarepants, after a day filled with grueling games and lots of hard work on her part. So I really can’t complain. We may not have tea parties on the porch or cheer on the Sox anymore, but I still play a role, and provide her with a place to lay her tired feet. I’ll have it anytime.
NOTE: I changed the title of this post because it made more sense.
- Big Papi belts 2 HRs as Red Sox open 2-0 lead (scores.espn.go.com)
- David Ortiz is straw that stirs Boston’s drink in October (newsday.com)