We were very lucky growing up that we basically stayed in the same place. We went to the same schools, stayed in the same town, and had a close knit group of friends and family. Like any family, especially one structured as ours was, we had our ups and downs (like you know, puberty). The one place that always brought us together was Yankee Stadium and last night was the final game held at the old ball park.
I'm not sure when my dad got his hands on season tickets but we've been going to games as long as I can remember. He had been going to games as long as he could remember and at each game we heard stories of his childhood and even his father's antics with the team in the 50's and 60's.
The list of memories is endless and doesn't just include our immediate family. We had four season tickets at the loge level on the first base side, section 13, box 447 and my dad loved to extend an invitation to anyone who would enjoy the ticket. "Meg I've got some tickets to the game this weekend, can you use them?" was a familiar question. He would also begin preparing for opening day right around Valentines Day. He'd call with the date and an offer of a "tube steak" and beer. There were opening days at the stadium where it snowed, rained, was 90 degrees, or something in between and he was always there with his Yankee hat not quite sitting correctly on his hat, a beer in his hand, and a two-handed high five when ever anyone got a home run. He discouraged booing and always tipped the beer man. He would make friends with anyone around him and talk your ear off when he wasn't sitting quietly, intently watching the game.
Perhaps the only flaw in the way he watched the game was that fact that we almost always left early due to the traffic and the long walk to the car over the Macombs Dam Bridge.
I was surprised, given the intertwining of Yankee Stadium and my dad that it wasn't a more emotional game. I should admit that I cried when we first walked in (and that I'm a bit teary now) but last night really felt like a celebration and a trip down memory lane. We really grew up there from when the Yankees were terrible and it felt a bit like taking your life in your hand to drive into the Bronx to last night when I dragged my husband on the subway all the way from Brooklyn. I had always hoped to bring my own children to a game with Grandpa Jim but I know Aunt Kate will fill their ears with tall tales of the glory years of the late 90's or the lean years of the late 80's/early 90's when you were lucky to get you car back with all of its hubcaps.
I hope that we can all bring our kids there and that I can be that kind of crazy aunt who tells stories of when I was a little girl and we used to eat tasteless salads at the Stadium club, when I bought my first legal beer with my mom sitting behind home plate, or went on the second date with my husband.
I think my favorite memory, probably one of the best in the world, is at the start of every season, turning the corner into section 13 and seeing, for the first time after a long winter filled with boring sports like basketball, the first hit of perfectly manicured green grass. So goodbye old stadium and hello new one. You've got big shoes to fill.
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