This story was first e-published in June 1999 befoer CStation relocated from Indiana to Florida. We thought our new CStation readers might appreciate it.

                                             -cmk

The father-son major league baseball outing, almost as much a part of American myth as George Washington cutting down his father's cherry tree. I can not tell a lie. This father-son baseball outing thing is way over advertised. Keep your credit card in your pocket and save the priceless experiences for something closer to home.

The Chicago White Sox offer something every so often called kids day. Children accompanied by adults get in for a $1 if the grownup pays full price. Before games kids get a chance at autographs from the players and coaches. After the game they get to run around the bases. Sounded too good for a life long Sox fan to pass up, so I took my 12-year old son, and one of his friends to Chicago last month.

Nathan's love for baseball died an early death last summer in the Goshen Little League. The summer of '98 was target practice for little league Minor division pitchers. I remember four kids going down in one game after being plunked by pitches. After being hit for the third time in five games last year, my son decided video games were a better pass time. He agreed, however, to come with me to the Sox game. As long as the weather wasn't too hot.

The weather that Sunday was a dream. About the best you can expect from Chicago. All the way into the park I kept reminding Nathan and his friend about our good weather fortune by repeating over and over again: "And it's a beautiful day for a ball game!"

We arrived in Chicago in time to grab a couple of cheap burgers before venturing into the ball park. At least I thought we had time. But by the time I located a McDonalds we were losing our advantage. Making matters worse, some Black guy in front of us just sat  at the speaker for what seemed like 15 minutes. Long after the cars in front of him had disappeared.

Losing patience I whirled around him and left the parking lot. That's when my son turned to me to let me know he had given the man a common finger gesture - well common in Chicago anyway - as we had left the parking lot.

I told him that was the wrong thing to do. Especially because the man was Black and would think we were prejudiced. My son looked at me confused and asked: "Dad, was he Black?"

On to the ball park and the discovery that all the lines for autographs were 50 miles long. Frank Thomas' line was even longer. I convinced the boys to go to the autograph line for Carlos Lee, which was shorter. We must have waited for 35 minutes in the line before we finally reached the ballplayers signing autographs. As it was our turn at the players, however, they turned and ran off of the field. Not a good way to start the afternoon.

The boys were upset, but Nathan moved on to other things. The other things were anything for sale at the stadium. Going to a ball game with kids is worse than going to Wal-Mart!

With some great difficulty we managed to make it to our $17 seats without buying anything. We were seated in the left field stands right behind the left fielders. Which gave us a good view of the left fielders but not much else. Ever notice how boring left fielders are? Maybe I've been spoiled by TV, but the infield was so far away the ballplayers looked like toy soldiers.

Nathan and his friend didn't mind because we weren't that far from the snack bars. By the time those boys finished eating those dollar seats cost a lot more. And by the time the Texas Rangers finished with my White Sox Chicago had lost 10-0.

After the game we searched for the end of the line of parents and kids waiting to run around the bases. We headed off in one direction and walked almost clear around the station before we found the end of that line. By this time dad was willing to call it a day, but boy wanted to run those bases. So we endured another 45 minutes or so before Nathan and friend got to make a quick trot around the bases. Which was more than any of the White Sox did that day.

On the way home dad got lost twice. And I discovered as we were about to arrive at the tollbooth exit at South Bend, that Nathan's friend had, in a spirit of good fun, thrown the tollway ticket out our car window.

Next time my son goes to a ball game his mother's taking him.

                            -Monty Keeling
                               9/05/99