The other day it hit me that this is my 25th anniversary of being a Red Sox fan. Before Trent, this is something I would have realized months ago and had some kind of big, stupid build-up on the blog. (Actually, a check of the archives reveals that I did think about it last year.)
I apparently forgot all about it until Friday when trying to think of things to talk about with an almost 11-month-old over his oatmeal as I thought about my first birthday as a father.
This year's celebration was a bit different from last year's mini-cation in Baltimore. I fired up the grill and gave Trent his first taste of flame-charred goodness, and also his first taste of ice cream later. He helped open my presents, which included some baby Red Sox garb: reversible hat (red and blue), onesie and bib.
We also started getting the yard ready for a more important birthday celebration we're planning for June: staining the front porch, picking up a picnic table and assembling a little swing and slide for Trent. He loved it.
Christine and I did have a lingering adults-only meal on Saturday.
But back to Friday's oatmeal ... when I remembered the anniversary, I thought about all that has happened since Roger Clemens first struck out 20 batters and what will happen in the next 25 years: Our little baby boy will be a young man finding his own way in the world. Maybe he'll wear a Red Sox cap, but I doubt it'll be reversible.
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