Days are getting warm, trees are leafing out, flowers are starting to bloom and, most importantly to me, my youngest kiddo is coming home from college. Summer is arriving.

The kiddo isn’t home for long this time, just a week. Then I pack him on a plane and he heads west for an internship. This will be the first summer in 22 years I haven’t had a kid in the house. Yet another adjustment to this new empty nest scenario.

Still, I do get him for a week and I aim to pack in the summer-style goodness while I can. There’s a long list of things I’d like to do, but with time pressing, choices must be made, so take me out to a ballgame.

I love a good baseball game.

My most intense relationship with the game was in ’86, when the Boston Red Sox played the New York Mets in the World Series. I grew up in a small farm town just outside of Boston, so there was no question in my high school where loyalties were meant to lie. Ordinarily, I would have agreed. Go Red Sox!

However, Ron Darling was pitching for the Mets that series, and his family had attended the church where my dad was the minister. When I was little Ron used to give me piggy-back rides and his mom threw me a party for my 10th birthday – with two cakes because she didn’t know which flavor was my favorite. My loyalties were with the Darlings.

It was a rough October, folks.

Now, I don’t want to misrepresent. If you are looking for someone to explain to you the nuances of a complicated play, I am not your girl. You want my kids for that. I can name the greats. My kids have an encyclopedic knowledge of all players past and present throughout all of time. I can follow the game, they have the rule book memorized. Nevertheless, you never have to ask me twice to go to a game, especially not if it’s Minor League matchup.

Major League Baseball is great, too. I genuinely do love the Sox and you’d have to be stone cold to not feel the enchantment of Fenway Park, but if offered season tickets to the Sox or the Sea Dogs, it’s not even a contest. Portland Sea Dogs all the way. It’s so friendly.

Sometimes one of the current greats will be there. Maybe a major leaguer recovering from injury and working their way back, or a minor league player who is so just so obviously on their way up. But really, it’s not about that for me. Regardless of which players are on the field, there is a certain kind of magic in watching people getting to do what they love, and if you add in a warm summer day and ice cream to boot, it is near perfection.

After the game with my son, there will be time for a few board games and favorite hikes, then off he goes. His internship? Baseball. No, not as a player – as an announcer. He will be calling games for a Wood Bat League team out in the west. I predict he is about to have the sort of summer he’ll be telling stories about to his grandkids and I am so happy for him.

He chose sports broadcasting as his future because of the way the game can create bonds and shared experiences. Community, in other words. I hope he has a blast. I hope you and yours have a summer filled with joy as well.

It is always a beautiful day for a ball game. Let’s play two.

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