July 2, 2015
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More than a quarter century ago, my first-born and I sat in the upper reaches of the Astrodome to watch the Astros play. He was an Astrobuddy and his daddy’s buddy in baseball. He began his addiction to America’s sport at an early age.
The Astrosbuddy program was the baseball dealer’s way of getting kids hooked, and bringing their parents’ wallet along with them. In modest times, which those were, we enjoyed the budget seats and the view of the game with little more than a shared soda and bag of peanuts, but we enjoyed the fun.
The other day, the now-grown Astrobuddy enjoyed an Astros-Yankees game in Minute Maid Park, along with his wife and first-born daughter, my friend and me. Each of us held different levels of interest, knowledge or engagement with the game, keeping a tasty mix of intensity, humor and entertainment to blend with the flavors of peanuts, hot dogs, and beer.
Late in the game, we found out there was a theme: Family Day. It was his birthday present, though I felt like I had received the greatest gift.
As the years go by faster and faster, the only clarity in the blur of moments is that nothing stands as clear and beautiful as family moments.