Monday, April 23, 2012

13 Baseball Sundays with Sienna: Game 2

13 Baseball Sundays with Sienna: Game 2

MANY YEARS AGO
I was pissed at my father. He knew it, I knew it, and at the risk of avoid the entire "I knew that he knew" conversation, let me just say there was no doubt between my Mother, Father, brother and myself that someone was in danger of losing his life that day.

Most likely myself since I was around seven years old.

There are several possibilities for the source of such as a tumultuous father-son moment. Girls. Money. Work. Or for a seven year old boy it would be leaving a baseball game during a rain delay that was in the third inning.

ME: DAD! WE'RE NOT LEAVING!

FATHER: We're leaving if I have to pick you up and carry you!

ME: NO!

We were standing under the Fenway Park bleachers, which during a rain delay doubled as a hide away cave with all the amenities that ancient caveman would have thought were terrible. The sun had long ago set along with the time when I was usually put into bed.

This was a special day though. A night game!

FATHER: Wayne!

I sat down at that point. Luckily my pants were already soaked from the rain delay so I didn't give too much thought to the sticky liquid that was suddenly seaping through my courderoys.

My Father turned a color that is best described as Fatherly Rage Red. Crayola could have made a million dollars off the color.

FATHER: The game is going to be called off.

ME: Then we can wait.

By now a small crowd had gathered. Mostly glaring at my father for daring to take his child away from a baseball game. I squeezed my eyes shut to make my father go away. At least that is how I remember the story.

Yes, I was ticked off. This was my birthday present. My first baseball game ever and my father - hater of sports - was ruining it for me!

Since my eyes were closed I felt his hands first. One on each shoulder. My eyes burst open long enough for tears to flood them as he bodily carried me out of Fenway Park.

Oh, where was my Mother during all of this? Shaking her head in disagreement as I was carried off.

FATHER: The ticket will be good for the makeup game.

The next morning I woke up to find out the game HAD been played. I didn't talk to my father for two weeks.

TWENTY SOMETHING YEARS LATER...ON A SATURDAY
Danielle was shaking her head in disagreement against me.

It was a gorgeous sunny day as we pushed Sienna through the cobbled streets of Cobbile Hill on our way to a play date with her daycare friend Tristan. Sienna was keeping a sharp lookout for dogs while she munched on her ever present cheerios. I was rehashing a conversation Danielle and I had been replaying for three days now.

There would be no Sunday baseball game for Sienna and myself.

On Danielle's side: weather reports, that she had been fighting a cold for nine days, and common-sense.

On my side: twenty years of fury at my father and a tiny bit of logic.

My logic was that Sienna would have to get used to inclement weather at some games. What better time than early in her life to teach her? We could layer her in rain gear - she loves the rain I had pointed out.

Danielle was not budging on this. I said a tiny bit of logic.

Danielle changed the subject to which bodega to get water from on Atlantic Avenue. I looked back at my daughter. Our children never know the battles we attempt to fight for them.

What we are willing to sit through.

A FEW MONTHS AGO
"I got enough sitting in the cold in Buffalo that's why."

My father was on the other end of the phone as I picked on him about not wanting to stay at the game. How I would never do that to my child.

I asked him what we was talking about. He never went to a sporting event in his life until my brother and I started sports.

Turns out not to be true.

When we lived in upstate New York the company he was Vice President for had Buffalo Bills season tickets. In the name of corporate synergy and happiness my father would go to the games with my mother.

I was shocked. It was like finding out there WAS an Easter Bunny.

"You sat in the cold?" I asked.

"Unfortunately," he laughed.

"What about us kids?"

"We'd leave you with your mother's friends, go tail gate, and watch the game. All I remember is how cold it was."

I wondered why my father would do such a thing. He laughed again.

"For the love of your mother."

YESTERDAY

"You know my mother will be here the whole day?"

I didn't answer. When the promise of a non-baseball game came through we had invited Grandma Trudy over for the day. It had been two weeks since she had seen Sienna.

It was 11:30 in the morning, Danielle had half an eye on the conversation with me, half an eye on her email as she was waiting for the game to be officially be called. The rain had just started coming down in bucketfuls, pushing toward Noah's Ark level at a rapid pace.

"Game is called," Danielle said, her Iphone bleeping at her, "you glad we didn't go?"

"No," I lied.

Danielle sighed as she tweeted out the game status. She knew she was right. I knew she was right. I'm just glad the game was canceled and would be made up.

Unlike twenty years earlier.

A kid doesn't forget such moments.

ADDENDUM
I should aside here that my father NEVER raised a hand to me. Actually his parenting advice to myself and my brother, If you get mad punch a door; never the child - the door can be replaced, not the child. My sister-in-law is horrified by this advice, my brother and I merely nod since we really did deserve a smack every now and again.

Wayne

Monday, April 9, 2012

13 Baseball Sundays with Sienna: Game 1 - part 2

Part 2 of Game 1

The wind always blasts you in the face.

That the first thing you take in when you exit the corporate office onto the right field ramp. On a hot day it causes a temperature illusion as you exit air conditioned offices into a wonderfully shading spot, giving you the not exactly true belief you are not actually standing in a New York inferno. On a cold day it peels your clothes off instantly and then attempts to freeze off your skin layer-by-layer.

Sienna scrunched her face up, nearly vanishing beneath her pink winter hat. I knew 1a child can make a face tinier, somehow she managed to minimize her head. Maybe she just slumped into her tiny sleeping bag. I know there is a different name for the bag that covers her in the stroller, really though it is a tiny sleeping bag.

The second thing you take in when you exit the corporate office onto the right field ramp is a surprisingly good view of the parking lot, the 7 train, and part of the chop shops. Oh, sorry, the "secondary car service market."

Sienna wasn't impressed by the view. She may have even growled at me.

I got her into the sun as fast as possible so she wouldn't start screaming. I will now let you onto a not-secret-all bit of parenting thought. 97% of the actions we take as a parent of a toddler is to minimize a potential upset child. Parents will claim we are trying to make them into better future citizens, or make the world a better place, or prepare the child for life.

We are lying. We don't want out child to cry. We inherently know our child will be cranky, upset, screaming little demon children and lead to conversations that my father and mother once had about myself and my brother:

"You keep the kids, I'll keep the pictures."

That is the level a child can cause a parent to reach.

When I say I don't want her to start screaming, I know this contradicts my earlier statement that I don't care if she throws a tantrum. I really do mean both. I also know that I wanted her in the sun as quickly as possible.

The Pepsi Porch
The Pepsi Porch were the first seats I ever sat in at Citi Field. I wish I remembered that at the time I taking the elevator up there - I wasn't. Either way, Sienna and I have a nice commonality, even when it is completely coincidental.

You could hear the low crack of batting practice, maybe even a little thump of the ball hitting the mitt, and definitely the early season sound of a child asking his father for a hot dog.

One picture and two minutes later we were rolling off the Porch. It was only 11:48 AM and cold. Sienna wasn't suitably distracted by the field going ons. There weren't enough people for her to check out. Daddy certainly isn't interesting enough.

Coincidentally the first time I sat in the Pepsi Porch is cold, there was a rain delay, and my friends and I lasted about the same about of time. Sienna and I continued the path of what my friends and I did the first time.

We went to the club.

Caesar's Club
I really wish the Caesar's Club would put a few slots or perhaps a black jack table in it. Even rolling my daughter in I felt that way. Being pre-noon and the first day to the park for a lot of people (or so I imagine) the club is thinly populated.

Which is great for Sienna and myself.

Caesar's Club has window the runs the length the exterior of the ballpark and it is slightly cordoned off by a large wall. A brilliant person added in soft couches, plush one person king seats grouped together and some coffee tables since the brilliant person most likely had children and knew they needed a spot to run around. Some large screen TVs add to the ambiance and are tuned in to SNY so the parents can still catch the game.

We parked ourselves onto an area with four king seats with a view of a TV.

Sienna was thrilled to be released. At least that was the reason I told myself as she threw her arms around my neck and clutched on for dear life as she peered over my shoulder.

Okay, maybe she just loves Daddy.

Okay, most likely she was exhibiting her usual caution for new situations. Caution for new situations entails 15 minutes of peering around, considering her options and then venturing out to the new environment.

In this case the usual 15 minutes took 18 minutes before she signalled that she wanted to be put on the floor. She she signalled for her cheerios. Signalling for her cheerios consists of bouncing up and down on knees while reaching skyward. This is not to be confused with "pick me" which is she performs the same action yet does not bounce.

Sienna's cheerio bounce was interupted when a mother with a baby carriage covered completely in Mets gear came to a rest at the seats next to us. How do I know it was a mother? You can tell, trust me.

I started talking with the mother. In the baby carriage was a four-month old going to her first baseball game. The mother was joined by her other child, a five year old boy dressed head-to-toe in Mets gear, and the father who was adorned similarly.

The entire scene was to Sienna's interest. Especially given the bag of popcorn the father was putting on the table of the son to eat.

Sienna can be cat-like when she wants something. Like the pieces of popcorn that came to rest of the floor of the Caesar's Club carpeted floor. I got my hands around her as she reached within a couple of feet of the renegade kernels.

The mother chuckled at the entire situation while the father gave a bored look. The mother was in the midst of feeding the newborn milk and then hustled off to change her. The father maintaining the same bored look the entire time.

Maybe someday I'll have that look. Either way I manuevered Sienna back to our spot where various older strangers cooed and smiled at Sienna. Sienna maintained her composure while nibbling on cheerios and taking everything in.

Sienna's first pitch & a Stroll

I made the decision that stuffing Sienna back into stroller to take her out for a live first pitch wasn't happening. She wasn't showing any interest in her milk, her toys, or even the cheerios anymore.

When she stops moving around this is the indication that she is tired and most likely wants a nap.

Therefore the first pitch of the Sunday season was...two guys nearly blocking the view of the tv. I guess not every Sunday will be perfect.

Still, it was now about 1:20 and Danielle was still working. Which left me with a tired child, too cold to go outside and the need to put her down for a nap. A parent will do what a parent needs to do in this situation.

I put her in the stroller and started rolling her around the Caesar's Club.

This isn't that unusual. At least judging from the lack of reaction from people. I don't know what I was expecting. From the staff it was complete indifference and from strangers it was knowing smiles.

I was just happy that Sienna was enjoying the trip. Her eyes darted about as she checked out the various food offerings. Definitely my daughter as she looked at a pastrami sandwich.

On the fifth strolled around the Caesar's Club I noticed a young girl sitting on a couch near Sienna and I had first started.

The girl with the bookNormally I would not have noticed a young girl, probably ten or eleven years old decked out in pink Mets gear (suitable until age 7, come on parents!). Except she had lounged herself on the couch and was reading a book.

I respect a move like that. Reading takes priority and there was no stopping her.

As she sat there her mother, carrying french fries, joined her on the couch. The young daughter repositioned herself to cuddle against the maternal one. The maternal one ate french fries and watched the game.

I had to smile. I KNOW I will be doing the same thing with Sienna at some point. At least the parent was in good spirits about the entire situation. She even gave a smile to me as I strollered past.

Starting my sixth time through.

Sienna makes her moveI made it a full circle before Sienna became restless. The nap was definitely NOT going to happen, so I released her from her baby bondage to see if she wanted to get a little exercise.

Maybe it was the familiarity of six times around the place but Sienna bolted the second I put her on the flood. The pitter patter of little feet as she headed toward the salad bar. The smile of a Caesar Club worker's face as Sienna headed toward her.

My look of concern as Sienna banged a left toward the main dining area and the foot traffic.

"Um, excuse my baby," I said as Sienna reached the dining area. Usually Sienna has zero interest in tiles. This time she left the rug and continued on her journey.

The patrons laughed. It is hard to be angry on Opening Day weekend. Though if Sienna crawls in there during a hot day during a losing streak she may get stepped on.

I picked Sienna up, turned her around and encouraged her to crawl back to our home base. I know, sometimes Daddy's are no fun. Danielle checked in around that time, saying she was done with her work and would be coming by with some food.

Which was good since I hadn't eaten all day.

Sienna's pizza
Sienna ventured back to our starting point.

Meanwhile the Girl with the book was joined by her father. The mother laughing as she headed back out to the game.

I arrived in time for the 1following conversation.

Father: Would you--

Girl: Reading.

Father: It's--

Girl. --cold. I'm reading.

Father: But.

Girl: Daaaadddd.

Boy I can DEFINITELY wait for Sienna to grow up and have those conversations. Some people say, "I can't wait for my child to talk!" Danielle and myself take a more practical approach. We don't wish for anything.

Danielle met up with us holding a culinary delight. Sienna gave her best "hi Mommy!" smile, which is an intoxicating grin that is specifically for Mommy (I get a more low rent version, which is slighly below the leve the cat gets.) I gave my best "hi wife!" smile, quickly spying the four slice of Two Boots pizza she was holding.

See, Mommy's always nourish. This was a no-brainer since I love pizza. My stomach can attest to this. Also Sienna has enjoyed pizza in the past. Nibbling off the ends while grinning madly. Though since she wasn't interested in cheerios she certainly wouldn't be--

Sienna went right for the pizza.

Mommy, Daddy, and Sienna then sat and ate four slices of pizza for the family's first food of the season.

Sienna goes home not having seen any of the live action
Less than half an hour later we rolled Sienna out into the parking lot. She didn't see a pitch the day, I think I explained to her a few terms, she certainly saw some colors. She WAS bribed with food, so at least that part of the plan worked.

On the way how she fell asleep to the sounds of the Mets on the radio. An event that is certain to be repeated time and again through out this summer. At least until she starts asking for Yo Gabba Gabba.

Wayne

Sunday, April 8, 2012

13 Baseball Sundays with Sienna: Game 1 - part 1

Saturday Night's All Right for Worrying
Sienna looked like she had been punched in the eye. Now before anyone goes calling child services you will be pleased to know what she was NOT punched in the eye. However appearances can be deceiving and the swelled, puffy eye lid had reduced her right eye to a tiny slit.

It still didn't keep a crocodile tear from escaping as she bellowed her displeasure while simultaneously opening her left eye as wide as possible in an effort to maximize the parental guilt of putting her to bed. A baseball game tomorrow? How about just get a sick, grumpy child to bed.

Saturday, 6:57 PM. Who doesn't love a cranky child? Sienna had been sick off and on through most of the week, including a lethargic Saturday that included a reduced appetite. A fever had been yo-yoing in and out of her since early in the week, a sickness so bad that it included a) Grandman taking care of her, b) Daddy taking a day off from work to take care of her, and c) a call to the Doctor.

Pink-eye and other childhood maladies were thankfully ruled out. All I was left with was a sick, grumpy child tossed in with the belief that it would take divine intervention for this child to go to the game tomorrow. I don't care what anyone says, A crusty eye-lid never looks good.

Sunday - Game Day.
Maybe.When Danielle works a weekend game day it requires her to go to the ballpark early. This is a natural part of the process, never bothering us before. It just means that since she has the car and I am hitching a ride then I'M going to the ballpark early. If I am taking Sienna with me this means WE are all going to the ballpark early.

There are some tactical advantages to such an arrangement. First and foremost no 75 minute weekend subway ride from Brooklyn to Queens. Another tactical advantage is that during BP I have a greater chance at a foul ball. Unfortunately THAT tactical advantage has never paid off. Which not-so-secretly is one of the main reasons I want to take Sienna.

Size Matters
Before Fenway Park became semi-famous for its Monster Seats atop the left field wall - a view a mere 300 something feet away from homeplate where I can tell you from experience a BP line drive doesn't make you want to catch the ball it makes you leap out of the way so aren't killed - it had a net over the left field wall. Actually a baseball travels so fast that it could rip a hole through the net. Remember this information as it becomes important in a few paragraphs.

Local legend has it that net was erected to either protect the windows of the warehouse on Landsdowne street or that management was so cheap it didn't want to lose baseballs. For reference I will now point out that there is a ladder that is on the FRONT of the Green Monster which served go purpose other than to get someone to the top of the wall (or make for an interesting adventure if a ball hit it during the game.)

I vote for the latter.

Now Bostonians are enterprising by nature. We throw tea into harbors, elect crooked Mayors, and figured out that a well placed throw of a small wooden block could knock a baseball out of the net through a small hole and ONTO THE STREET. Yes, now you are to recall the above mention of balls creating holes.

A mad scramble would that ensue for the baseball.

My brother was 12 and I was nine when we first started getting involved in the baseball scrums. Why no one just took a piece of wood and clubbed us with it is beyond me. Probably because it was a good two years before we had a logistical chance at a ball.

My brother dove into one particular scrum and got his hand on the ball - he came up eye-to-eye with a giant Bostonian (we can tell our own by sight) with a neck as thick as my brother's body. My brother looked the Bostonian straight and the eye and asked, "I'm 12."

Back in those days being 12 meant something. Meaning that if you were 20-whatever the giant was he wouldn't just take something away from a kid. This was one of three times my brother or I would get our hands on a baseball.

My brother got the baseball and I learned size matters.

Back to Sunday
I guessed that no baseball player can resist an adorable child in a baby bjorn. Never mind one dressed in pink - perfectly legal in this case. A sure win for my child-who-is-only-in-the-bottom-5-percent-size-wise.

On Sunday morning I gathered Sienna at her crib. Her tiny arms raised toward the heavens as I picked her up, took one look at her eye and said, "Yes! We can go the game!" Also, as throw-in it was Easter Sunday and as Crash Davis once said (paraphrased) baseball is a church!

A church we could attend if the eye...

...eye looks normal! Now it merely gave you the impression she was rubbing her eye a lot. Still, a morning meal wasn't as hearty as I would have liked, nor enough milk could be drank.

Danielle and I made a tactical decision. I am pretty sure all parents make tactical decisions. Our reasoning was, Life isn't perfect and if she is cranky at the game I can leave Danielle at the park and take our child home.

At the time it made sense. Well, if you ignore the reasoning that involves your wife taking traing 75 minutes to get home. On a cold day.


That is correct it is cold out. One of those 60 degrees if you're in the sun, though really 50 degrees in the sun because of the wind, never mind if you are in the shade kind of cold days. We packed Sienna up accordingly: extra heavy jacket to change into once we got to the park, baby bjorn, carriage, extra milk and extra cheerios.


Sienna even rewarded us with a nap and despite some last minute glitches we actually left the house in plenty of time, hit no traffic on the BQE, and arrived at the ballpark a full half an hour before Danielle had to give a tour to a contest winner.

Yes, our brilliant, "We can make it through this!" decision making was a cold day too.
It was fantastic. We put Sienna in her carriage, whisked her through security, stopping long enough for admiring looks from some of Danielle's co-workers, and then going straight to Danielle's office so she could start getting some work done.

There was even BP. We are talking the chance for glory, free baseballs and ... is that Sienna being cranky? Why yes, yes it is.

Cranky in the Office
Sienna wasn't having so much of a bad day as she is in a "shy" state and not too fond of surroundings. That part isn't true. She is fine with surroundings unless Mommy leaves - at which point there is some crying.

The office was eerily quiet when we arrived, owing to the holy day, the start of Passover and some third reason I am likely forgetting. Sienna was happy to be out of her stroller, amusing herself by crawling around Mommy's office like the young explorer she is.

She was definitely cranky though. A parent can tell these things. I could also tell since Danielle left the office to use the bathroom. Sienna crawled after her, straight into the hallway. I picked her up so she wouldn't turn the area into her playground - okay I didn't want her to be stepped on - and when I lifted her skyward she developed a tiny frown on her place.

Luckily Danielle's office neighbor Emily (not her real name) was in. Emily loved Sienna last year when we brought Sienna to the office as a three-month-old. I guessed Emily would enjoy seeing the baby progress. I guessed right.

Emily grinned, talked the fine baby talk and even rubbed Sienna's belly a bit. Sienna could have cared less since she noticed the mini souvenir batting helmets that you receive once you eat ice cream. Mental note for me? No, physical note as Emily was kind enough to let us play with one.
After a couple of minutes I left Emily get back to work - that Danielle came back from the bathroom was merely a coincidence. I swear.

Danielle told me I could stay in her office while she gave the tour. Stay in the office? I had a ballpark to reintroduce my daughter to! Danielle vanished - once again resulted in an upset Sienna. However I took out my secret weapon at this point: the baby bjorn.

Sienna goes crazy at the site of it. Now was no exception. I slipped her into her heavier coat, put her into the bjorn and...could not get the stupid thing to lock up.

When I say this has never happened it has never happened. It was a three minute struggle as I tried to get it loose enough to get my child to be happy in it. I knew Sienna's heavy coat was bulky - for some reason it had become an impossibility.

Which is when Sienna started to cry.

Not a small sob, or "this is unjust." This was a full on, Daddy knock it off wail! The sound echoed too loudly for my tastes. I am not the type to worry about what anyone thinks of my screaming child except...we were at Danielle's place of work and I didn't want to disrupt anyone.
At least while Danielle wasn't around.

I muttered several hundred curses as I attempted to switch from Baby Bjorn to carriage. The difficulty was increased 50 fold as Sienna took that exact moment to arch her body like a bow and show the strength and resiliency of an upset child.

An upset child alerting to the world to her distress in her loudest tiniest voice.

She finally calmed down as held her in my arms, leaving enough room for her to jam a thumb into her mouth while she looked at me with both eyes wide - her formerly swollen eye showing not ill effects of anything other than being watered by her tears.

Thoughts of free baseballs were erased from my brain. This was now a matter of survival. I wondered what the heck I had gotten myself into.

...to be continued

Wayne

Saturday, April 7, 2012

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