The crowd had their cell phones out and pointed towards the field. The LED banners said, ‘Sing along!’, while the announcers called the last play. Miguel ‘Miggy’ Cabrera had caught his last baseball in Comerica Park. He ran it to first base himself for the out. We may never remember the runner (although we may remember the pitcher who walked Miggy on his last time at bat). But we will remember Miggy’s face as he slapped his chest, thanked God and his family and fans, and hugged every single person on his way into the dugout.
I think I’ll remember this day, October 1st, the last Tigers game of the season, a season, that, for us, was about growth. Watching our daughter grow into a toddler, watching us grow into moms, our long days and longer nights punctuated by Tigers games. Every afternoon, we’d ask Echo, ‘What time is the Detroit Tigers game?’ and she’d tell us, ‘Today, the Detroit Tigers are playing the Los Angeles Angels at 9:10 pm’ and we would groan because that is way past all of our bedtimes, or she’d say, ‘Today, the Detroit Tigers are playing the Kansas City Royals at 3:40 pm’, and we’d cheer because we would use our finite number of TV hours to watch the game right after the baby woke from her nap, during our supper and before her bath and bedtime. We timed our days this season by innings of baseball: how many I’d miss while nursing her to sleep, or how many were left until we could roll into bed and pass out for the night. We watched the game when our families visited and when we had rainy afternoons when we were so tired we couldn’t follow any kind of scripted show but needed background noise so we could scroll on our phones. We watched the game on those early nights when the baby still fell asleep on the nursing pillow as I sat on the couch. She hasn’t done that in months, preferring the dark and quiet of her crib. When I think of Miggy’s last game, I remember where I was when Princess Diana died, when the Twin Towers came down, and when Hilary lost the election. Those are all bigger things, and yet smaller things, because those things all happened before our daughter was born.
Our daughter watched the game with us, unaware of the momentous occasion unfolding before her. She likes faces and colors and any kind of screen. She likes snacks. She likes being with her moms. Will she remember where she was when Miguel Cabrera caught his last baseball? Probably not. But hopefully, she will remember that her moms tried to show her the world and give her everything that was in it.
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Until next time, always go black tie.