PASSING THE LEGACY ON TO OUR DAUGHTERS

In 1995, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. As I held her in my arms, I had dreams of the great things she’d accomplish. I imagined all of the great things we’d do together. I imagined she’d be a doctor, a lawyer, maybe even the first female President of the United States.

As she grew, I watched her develop into a beautiful, intelligent young lady. Then, the day came the words that no mother ever wants to hear: “Mom, I’m a Red Sox fan”.

I stood frozen in my tracks, starring in horror. The words still ring in my ears. I still feel the sharp sting of the verbal dagger that pierced my heart. Once the initial shock wore off, my mind started to race. Where did I go wrong? I had a good pregnancy. I ate right, I exercised. I didn’t do anything that could harm the child. She had five fingers on each hand, and ten toes. She was perfect. So what happened?

I decided that I would play it cool. We all know that banning the undesirable from our children only results in rebellion. I tried not to cry or dry heave in her presence when she wore her Varitek shirt. I encouraged her to make her own decisions, which is painful for any parent when they know it may result in serious, life altering mistakes. Watching it unfold in front of you is excruciating, but we have to let go and let them make their mistakes in life, right? I even sat with her and watched Yankees and Red Sox games on TV, holding my tongue and cringing at her tiny little cheers for the Sox. I had come to the kind of acceptance that any parent who loves their child comes to when dealing with obstacles and adversity.

Then, as if by magic, things started to change. The turning point was when my daughter, ever the advocate of social justice, watched in disgust as Pedro Martinez came off the mound and physically went after Don Zimmer. Her eyes opened wide, and her mouth dropped to the floor. “Mommy, why is he doing that?” she asked. I simply answered, “I don’t know, honey.” “It’s not fair, “she said. “He’s old. That’s not nice”. I nodded quietly. Maybe I didn’t have to change her mind at all. Thanks, Pedro.
But still, although her loyalty was wavering a little, she continued to wear the Varitek shirt. And I continued with my new strategy. Game after game, she began to see the unsportsman-like conduct of the Boston Red Sox. Constantly arguing with umps. Trash talking from the mound. Hitting batters. Dirty looks from the bench. My girl was starting to ask a lot of questions, and I could tell the doubts were strong. The iron was hot…time for me to strike.

I brought out the big guns. I took her to Yankee Stadium. If you’re going to teach your children to pray, you have to bring them to church. She looked around in wonder at what she saw. We made a pilgrimage to Memorial Park and she took it all in. We sat in our seats and the game started. She was hooked. A really fun group of guys from Brooklyn were sitting next to us, and they were talking to her, getting her hyped and high-fiving my tiny little girl as if she were part of their family. She felt as big as they were that day. I watch with loving eyes as she was christened into the Yankees family.
The next trip to the Stadium was a Yankees vs. Sox game. We sat in the bleachers, directly above the Sox bullpen. Proudly sporting a blue Jeter shirt, my baby girl waved the Varitek shirt over the bullpen, where he was catching practice throws before the game. She said, in her best Bawston accent, “Hey Varitek, you look like a freakin’ lobstah!!” and threw the shirt at him.

Wiping a tear from my eye, I put my arm around her and said, “atta girl.” I’m not sure a mother has ever been so proud, but I was that day, and I'll never forget it.




--Christy Lee, BYB Staff Writer



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