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 31st 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.
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