Yesterday, as part of a belated Valentine’s Day celebration, The Auteur and I went to an Extreme Midget Wrestling show and stayed the night in the city. We had a great time and it was a much-needed, albeit brief, break from the day-to-day grind. We probably didn’t really have the money to do something like this, but this was one of those time in life where we had to be a little selfish and splurge on ourselves just a little. It was the kind of thing that we don’t do enough of and need to make sure we do more often.
Our hotel room had a spectacular view of downtown Detroit. That alone was probably worth what we paid for the room. From our window, I could see Comerica Park – the home of the Detroit Tigers and a place where I spent many an afternoon – and a few evenings – with my Dad watching our favorite baseball team.
The morning after the wrestling show, as we were getting ready to check out, I got a little emotional standing on the 26th floor of the casino hotel overlooking the city. Seeing Comerica Park made me think of the Old Man and I started to cry a little.
It’s weird because I didn’t attend a single Tiger game in 2016. I would have to check back on this, but last season is probably the first time in 20 years I didn’t attend a single game all season – including my time down South. Last season was also the first season in which my family did not have season tickets to the Tigers since at least 1997 (or 1996?). And while I went to a few games after The Old Man passed in 2015, I think I was a little apprehensive to go back to the stadium last year. Had we still not had his partial season-ticket package, I doubt I would have gone back there at all in 2015.
Some people feel weird to go back into a parent’s bedroom – seeing where they lived and their most personal belongings – after they’ve passed. The reality is that during my college and early adult years, I probably spent more time with my father at Comerica Park than I did in his house. In a lot of ways, going back to Comerica Park is not unlike seeing his bedroom again; going through his belongings; or his man cave.
But here’s the thing that I do know: It’s my turn now. It’s my turn to be the dad, to take my kids to the Tiger games, to teach them the game, and bask in those lazy summer days, weeks, months and years and pass that great family tradition on to my kids.
It’s time to become the man that I was born to be (and yes, that made the list…)