Posted: Tuesday, August 4th, 2009 at 8:36 pm. Permalink
The short URL for this page is http://tumblr.com/xu52kvie7.
Share this URL on Twitter
Reply to this post on Twitter.
Notes: 40.

  1. tj posted this

I grew up in Massachusetts, and it is still “home” and “where I’m from” regardless of where my clothes live. My mom still lives in the house I grew up in. During the summertime it was very common for my Dad to wake me up on a Saturday morning and say “Let’s go to a Red Sox game…” We’d get in the car, drive to the T, ride into Boston, and walk up to the window and get two bleacher seats for about $18 each (the same seats now cost roughly $8,527 and are sold out for 4 years). It was, by far, the worst sunburn I’d get every summer, because of course Dad (being divorced) had no such concepts such as “sunscreen” but neither of us ever thought about that at the time. We’d eat pretzels and hot dogs and drink Cokes and watch the game together. I don’t remember a single game. I couldn’t tell you who we played or if we won or anything like that. I just remember that we went. Together. Every summer. When we left, we always seemed to end up exiting right near this exact souvenir shop pictured above, where we’d go in and Dad would inevitably buy me some overpriced memento I didn’t really need. I told that story to some of the group this weekend in Boston as we walked past it. I’m not sure if Jason heard it or not. From the picture it may not be obvious that the store now appears to be closed, which seems inexplicable given the frenzy that is “Red Sox Nation” these days, but it was incredibly bittersweet to see the sign and all the memories it triggered, and then to realize that it very nearly no longer exists, and somehow feels like I’m losing part of my memories of growing up with my Dad. And yet… at the same time I now have new memories I’m building with friends I’ve met up with in Chicago, Indianapolis, Pittsburgh, New York, and Boston. Walking down that road with a group of new old friends and seeing that sign was an interesting intersection of my past and my present. I don’t have anything deep to say about it, just an observation that it happened. (via Sween.)
http://www.flickr.com/photos/sween/3786566811/in/set-72157621813859151/

I grew up in Massachusetts, and it is still “home” and “where I’m from” regardless of where my clothes live. My mom still lives in the house I grew up in.

During the summertime it was very common for my Dad to wake me up on a Saturday morning and say “Let’s go to a Red Sox game…”

We’d get in the car, drive to the T, ride into Boston, and walk up to the window and get two bleacher seats for about $18 each (the same seats now cost roughly $8,527 and are sold out for 4 years).

It was, by far, the worst sunburn I’d get every summer, because of course Dad (being divorced) had no such concepts such as “sunscreen” but neither of us ever thought about that at the time. We’d eat pretzels and hot dogs and drink Cokes and watch the game together.

I don’t remember a single game. I couldn’t tell you who we played or if we won or anything like that.

I just remember that we went.

Together.

Every summer.

When we left, we always seemed to end up exiting right near this exact souvenir shop pictured above, where we’d go in and Dad would inevitably buy me some overpriced memento I didn’t really need.

I told that story to some of the group this weekend in Boston as we walked past it. I’m not sure if Jason heard it or not.

From the picture it may not be obvious that the store now appears to be closed, which seems inexplicable given the frenzy that is “Red Sox Nation” these days, but it was incredibly bittersweet to see the sign and all the memories it triggered, and then to realize that it very nearly no longer exists, and somehow feels like I’m losing part of my memories of growing up with my Dad.

And yet… at the same time I now have new memories I’m building with friends I’ve met up with in Chicago, Indianapolis, Pittsburgh, New York, and Boston.

Walking down that road with a group of new old friends and seeing that sign was an interesting intersection of my past and my present. I don’t have anything deep to say about it, just an observation that it happened.

(via Sween.)