I've had a very tough time this past year and have thought about writing for a while but I guess it was harder than I thought. My poppa died. He was a wonderful man and I really wasn't ready for him to go. He had not been well for a while and I suppose people would say he lived a long life but I was still not prepared.
My dad was a Yankees fan. He told me one day when I was 5 or 6 years old that he was going to take me to a baseball game. "OK, April.", he said, "New york has 2 baseball teams, the Yankees and the Mets. You get to decide what game we are going to go to." I was very excited to be making such an important decision. "Keep in mind, once to decide on a team, you have to be their fan for life." Now I was nervous. He put down 2 baseball cards, one from each team. I studied the cards with the stiff looking men in pressed uniforms holding their bats upright and looking off in the distance. It didn't take me long, "This one!" I said confidently. "Really?" my dad looked concerned. "Why them?" I picked up the card of Tom Seaver and happily said, "I like orange and blue, they defiantly have better uniforms." My dad smiled and said ok. We went to a lot of games and I don't remember anything about them except for the snacks. Although he knew I am no real fan of baseball, he never passed a chance to give a dig now and then, "Looks like your team blew it again this year." I would say something about the Yankees playing with gold bats and I'd sit and watch the game on t.v. for a few minutes with him.
I miss my father an awful lot. He had huge hands that were super soft and gentle. He was my #1 fan and I'm glad he knew I was his.
