For my father. Who told me that I played a great tee-ball game when I was picking flowers in the outfield. Who taught me how to score a game so that I, too, could be involved in my sister’s sports career. Who never gave up hope when the Sox were down 3-0 to the dirty Yankees. Who cried when the Curse of the Bambino was finally broken. And again in 2007. And who gave my son his first baseball and bat when I was just 12 weeks pregnant.
Happy Father’s Day.