Kissimmee Memories

Clare stepped off the plane in Orlando last night to a thermometer reading of 87 degrees.  Did I mention I hate my daughter right now?

After today’s games, the girls want to hit the beach, even though the Tigers and Astros are playing (literally) just down the road from them.  We saw those two teams in a spring training game four years ago.  Clare should remember it well; I do.  She had already hit her first college homerun for Elmhurst, on our 31^st wedding anniversary, which was a nice touch.  For our one off-day in Florida, we decided on a ballgame.

The seats were great, just three rows from the field a little behind first base, and Miguel Cabrera was a revelation; he had time enough for a whole bunch of autographs.  But the Tigers’ bullpen seated just in front of us wasn’t so nice.  They—and you guys know who you are—kept staring and staring at Clare, perhaps because she was dressed in the way of a 19-year old Midwestern girl looking to get a little color before heading back to the tundra.  About the seventh inning, there came another round of stares that broke the camel’s back, so to speak, or prompted a parent into action.  It wasn’t me but the mother bear, who glowered long and hard enough until she got a mumbled apology and no more stares.   

And now the new softball graduate assistant gets to play mother bear.