Tonight, I went to a baseball game for the first time in years. It was in the company of my darling Wee Lass and her mother. The featured match up was the Bowie Baysox (a double-A farm team for the Baltimore Orioles) versus the Akron Aeros. Her Royal Cuteness had received a free ticket for participation in a reading excellence program at her school.
I lost interest in baseball back during the '96 ALCS Playoffs, when the hated Yankees beat the O's (damn that kid and his interference!) and that sort of broke my (admittedly) lukewarm sports fan heart. The Wee Lass really wanted to go to this game, and who was I to say no? We snagged two more tickets and made an evening of it. Good times were had by all.
It was minor league, and I was prepared to be underwhelmed, but something wonderful happened. I found myself explaining to Wee Lass how the game worked, the meaning of 'bunt', and how to steal a base. No one will ever confuse me with an expert on baseball, but it felt good to explain things to someone curious to learn. I felt as if I actually knew something. I relaxed into the Now.
We chatted, we goofed off, we laughed. Things felt right...I can only describe the time with my daughter as contentment. This is a rare state even in the best of times. There were no corn fields from which the ghosts or spirits would amble, to teach me a life lesson. In its own humble way, however, it was a field of dreams.