Kris Bryant wears #17.
The girl's face was red and swollen. She looked ill, as though she was having an allergic reaction. My nephew was eavesdropping and got the full story: the girl just found out that Kris Bryant was still on the disabled list. Not only was he too injured to play, he wasn't even on the roster. He wouldn't start the game, he wouldn't come out of the dugout as a pinch hitter, he wasn't even in the park. There was no way she would see him at all. Just thinking of this caused a fresh torrent of tears.
The mother was beyond exasperated. She was very grumpy, even hostile, as she and the girls squeezed past us time and again, leaving their seats to go to the bathroom, to go to the refreshment stand (first for ice cream in a little Cubs helmet, then for a bowl of cubed watermelon), for souvenirs ... While Dad may have been a baseball fan, the women in his family couldn't care less about the game. Not now that HE wasn't here.
They left before the game was over, which was too bad for Dad because it was a really exciting game. But I get it. He probably didn't want to be stuck in post-game traffic with his three pissy family members.
As they were leaving the row for the last time, one of the girls called over her shoulder, "Daddy! Our signs!" And he patiently turned to retrieve two very wrinkled pieces of notebook paper, covered with hearts and baseball stickers, and of course, HIS name in marker. Thinking of them sitting up the night before, making these "signs" that KB would never see, just broke my heart.
I suppose I can sympathize with the mom's annoyance with her dramatic daughter. But, no, I think Mom should have understood. Have we ever loved anyone as purely as a little girl loves The Man of Her Dreams?
Trust me. I know.
Bless her heart. I get it, too. For me, it was Donny Osmond.
ReplyDelete*sigh*
ReplyDelete