Last Friday, Justin headed to New York with some friends for the day, leaving Robbie and me to our own devices after school. There were no new movies out – our usual date plan – and I couldn’t bear the thought of another night at Chuck E. Cheese. Without really thinking the idea through, I decided to take Robbie to Fenway for a Red Sox game. He’d been before, but not since he was really little. This was the first game that he would actually remember.
The first part of our date was bus and train ride, and that alone would have been enough. Especially after I took the wrong train, and we wound up at the Symphony stop on the green line. Eventually, though, we made it to Fenway. Robbie waited patiently in line for his popcorn and Diet Coke before we made our way to our seats. I’d been fortunate enough to get reasonably priced tickets on eBay for our last-minute adventure.
Robbie took it all in: scarfing popcorn, looking at the screens, pointing out all of the kids. And, much to Justin’s dismay, yelling, “Go, Red Sox! Go! Go!”
Eventually, things took a turn for the worse. Robbie wet through two pairs of pants. He threw bits of popcorn. The crowning moment was when my phone went flying three rows and hit a very upset young woman in the back.
Justin confided in me later that he never would have taken Robbie into Fenway alone. It might not have been the easiest adventure, but I don’t care. He’s still talking about it a week later and cheering on the Red Sox, especially when Justin talks about the Yankees. What more could a girl want?