13 Baseball Sundays with Sienna: The Prelude

I blame others for what is about to happen. On my Mom and Dad, on Danielle's mother, on my brother and his children who broke his heart, our friends Jacqui and Matt, to our friends Jason and Emily, and to a game played by millionaires who would not miss my existence if I stopped being a fan tomorrow.

Mostly I blame myself for what I am about to do with my daughter Sienna.

For the first time in her young life - she of seven days shy of 14 months old - I am attempting to directly influence her and take away her choice. Throughout her life she will make many choices - friends, drugs, whether to tweet or not.

But baseball. Baseball I want her to life. I need her to like. I'll most likely go insane. How did we get here? Like I said, I'll blame some others.

I blame Jacqui and Matt.
These two are my wife Danielle's friends. According to the transit property of spouse hood this also makes them my friends too. Jacqui and Matt. Jacqui and my wife Danielle used to play softball together and Matt is an executive for a major sports league. Jacqui is a Jets fan and Matt is a Patriots fan and the two of them are so competitive they cannot watch the game together. We're talking serious sports fans here to the nth degree.

Jacqui and Matt have two daughters who both do not like sports.

I'm not sure how this happens. Jacqui isn't sure how it happened. She and Matt tried to introduce the kids to sports. It did not go well.

I want my experience to go with well with Sienna. I want something that my daughter will enjoy doing with Daddy (and Mommy.) I don't find it odd that girls love baseball. Baseball and women have already been a part of my life.

I blame my Mother.
My Mother loved baseball. She imparted this bit of torment onto her children - namely my brother and myself. Baseball isn't a ritual in the suburbs of Boston where we grew up it is a MIND NUMBING RITUAL OF TERROR MARKED WITH MOMENTS OF HAPPINESS.

All caps. All consuming. All the time.

Since my Mother died 25 years ago I never got a chance to ask her how she ended up liking baseball while her sister hated baseball. My father actually answered the question for me.

"It was something your Grandfather loved. Your Aunt hated sports so it was something your mother and her father could do together. It was their thing."

Besides it being an amazing sentiment it gave me a ray of hope. Daughters and fathers watching baseball together. I could picture it now. Mets. Sienna. Daddy. Baseball.

I blame my father.
I am now a Mets fan because of my father. My father was Protestant and married my Jewish mother. My brother and I were raised Jewish. Once upon a time I asked my father how that happened.

"Son," he said, "when it comes to religion and the raising of the children don't argue with your wife. You'll lose." He then giggled and added, "You should just let them make the major political decisions because they will anyway."

Which is how I ended up being a Mets fan. It was a major political in my relationship with my wife Danielle.

Danielle grew up in Queens as a life long Mets fan. Except for when she became so upset with them she disowned them. She was back to being a Mets fan when we started dating. At the time she also knew more about baseball than myself. Oh, she also works for the New York Mets.

When Sienna was in utero we discussed potential sports allegiances. Essentially Sienna would be raised a Mets-Patriots-Celtics-Bruins fan. My pure luck Sienna has had quite a year as a fan having been alive for a Bruins Stanley Cup victory and seeing Patriots lose in the Super Bowl.

Me. I ended up as a born again Mets fan. Like any born again person of any religion, life style change, or whatever the heck you're changing in your life, I take it over the top.

I blame Danielle.
Mostly for the reasons mentioned above. Other than my formerly beloved Red Sox I could have cared less about baseball. I got to see a World Series victory. I still can't believe I was a Red Sox World Series victory - never mind a second one where I got to go to a World Series game with my brother.

There are days I could scream because I started following baseball again. That I'm going to actively try to get my daughter to love it.

I blame my brother and his children
My brother got his children to be Red Sox fans. Then they moved to Virginia. My nephew Pablo came home one day, looked at my brother and said, "I'm not a Nationals fan." That would kill me. That is probably the real reason I turned into a born again. Sienna would take Danielle's side in fandom.

I blame Danielle's mother.
For raising Danielle in Queens. Danielle's mother Trudy is from England, which makes me wonder why the heck she was singing "Take My Out to the Ballgame" to Danielle when Danielle was in her crib. Who does that?

Really though.

Sienna has to be a Mets fan. If I gave up my Red Sox fandom then I mentally cannot have a daughter who won't watch baseball (or even worse becomes a Yankees fan.) Consider it a daughter overcoming a sin of her parent. I'm probably worse than those failed athletes who coach little league.

I am happy that Sienna has already shown an interest in World Series rings. Danielle's friend Sig has two from working for the Cardinals. Sienna tasted the gold of the ring. Well, she tried to taste it - the ring is so large she couldn't fit it into her mouth.

Call this the earliest intervention in the history of parent-kind. I took my concern to my father - asking my father for parenting advice is like asking the fox how to guard the chicken. You take the advice and do the opposite.

"Well, I never tried to push you kids into anything. Your mother did." My father chuckled as he told it to me over the phone. My father never had any interest in baseball. It was something my mother did with my brother and myself - a topic I will get into full detail in the future.

Got it. Push my kid into baseball.

My initial plan is based on simple child-like pleasure and the old parent standby of outright bribery. Sienna loves cake - I imagine most children love cake though I'm not sure how many attempt to unhinge his or her jaw to shove a cupcake in like Sienna did one fine early evening.

Whenever I take Sienna to a Mets game at Citi Field I will purchase a cupcake there and feed it to her during the game. Sweets + baseball = happy child. Before I executed this plan I checked it with my mother-in-law Trudy.

Trudy was horrified at the plan. I think most mother-in-law's would be horrified at the outright bribery involved with a grandchild. Though Trudy is the one who constantly threatens to feed cookies to Sienna when our backs are turned.

"What are you going to do when she goes to a game and doesn't get a sweets?" Trudy inquired.

"Most likely cry and hate me," I replied. "Though she won't hate baseball," I added quickly.

With both of our parents decidedly not on board I figure this is the best plan ever.

I blame Jason and Emily.
Still, I was unsure of my plan. There was only one person to speak with. Jason Fry. One of Danielle's oldest friends who also happens to have an eight-year-old son Joshua who is a huge Mets fan. When I started dating Danielle and I was having trouble separating all of her friends Jason was referred to as "father of the Mets' baby" since Joshua was already a huge Mets fan. Emily is Jason's wife and she is just as big as Mets fan as Jason.

"Great plan," Jason said as he and I stood on the Willets Point platform waiting for the 7 train to whisk us back to Manhattan after the Mets opening day victory over the Braves. By pure happenstance Jason and I ended up on the same platform post-game.

"How did you do it with Joshua?" I asked.

I had heard rumors that Jason gave Joshua whatever Mets gear he wanted as the kid was growing up. It turns out like many rumors there was truth to this one. Lots of truth.

Not only did Jason bribe Joshua with sweets at Mets games he and Joshua would eat dinner in front of the TV during Mets games. Or watch the game together. Or generally do whatever Joshua wanted if it involved the Mets.

"Make it special," were Jason's final words of advice.

I blame myself.
The 13 Baseball Sundays with Sienna will be my spring-summer adventures with her to Citi Field. She is currently seven days shy of 14 months of age. When this adventure ends she will be 19 months old. Nearly a third of her lifetime will pass during this.

I didn't know that until I typed it. That is pretty strange to consider.

I have already reconsidered one rule I had for baseball games. No pink hats. Sienna is a girl with short hair and I'm not going to spend the next six months hearing about what a cute little boy I have.

Wayne