Monday was my
birthday, two-thirds of the way to the devil’s number, as one friend joked (I
think). The devil or boxcars, it wasn’t
enough to keep Clare and Chris from coming over for steak and cake.
I can see that
my role as in-law and, maybe eventually, grandfather will include the
television turned on to some sporting event; as long as it’s not golf, I’m OK
with that. Both before and after
birthday candles (Full Disclosure: the second verse of Happy Birthday in our
house starts with “May the dear Lord bless you.”) Clare sat next to me on the
couch watching the Red Sox-Phillies’ game.
Every so often, a hitter would take a vicious cut at a pitch and
someone, either father or daughter or I think once both of us together, let out
a little gasp, as in “Ooh!”
You can take the
girl out of the house, but you can’t take the upbringing out of the girl.
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