This past April, my husband and I took our kids to Fenway Park, for the first time. Well, Jay and I had been before, but the kids hadn’t. When you’re from New England, going to Fenway Park is like a rite of passage. Even if you’re not a big Red Sox fan, you’ve gotta see the park, you know? It’s beautiful.
Our seats were pretty far back. Like, against the back wall. And it was cool at first because the sun was shining on us and we were having a great time, but as the sun went down, it got really cold. And we were not dressed properly. We were just in sweatshirts and when I saw a girl next to me in a winter coat and wrapped in a sleeping bag, I knew we were under dressed. But we trudged through… snuggled together and bought hot chocolate…and hot dogs.. and anything else hot we could get our hands on.
The game went into overtime, but we just could not handle staying past the 9th inning. To be completely honest, I don’t even know if we won. At that point it didn’t matter. It was two days after they caught the second Boston Marathon bomber and we were just happy to be walking around Boston, feeling some hometown pride and celebrating life. I like to think we would feel that way regardless of what had just happened, but I don’t know for sure. Sometimes it takes a tragedy to put things in perspective.
Speaking of perspective…..