The Phillies are back in the World Series!
I am a huge sports fanatic (or you could call me a phanatic). I went to the University of Florida, so with college sports, I bleed orange and blue. But I was born and raised in South Jersey where it was live or die with the Phillies and the Eagles.
When I was young, and my grandparents were still alive, we would go over their house on the weekends and you could bet money that the television would be tuned into a Phillies game. My pop-pop would be sitting in his spot at the very end of the couch. It was a hideous couch: a brown, orange, and green paisley-patterned, 1970s travesty. It lived through two parents, four children, and eleven grandchildren. I loved that couch. It comforted me. I would curl up on it next to pop-pop and we would watch the games. When I got older, he would occasionally let me take a sip from his beer (always a canned Budweiser) when no one was looking. It didn’t matter how badly the Phillies played, it was the feeling that everything in the world was right that made me love those weekend visits. Pop-pop was my hero.
As I grew older, and we moved away from South Jersey, I lost track of the game and my family. Weekend visits turned into holiday visits. Baseball games turned into Barbie dolls, then clothes, then boys. The Phillies became a distant memory.
Until last year, the Phillies never won a World Series in my lifetime. Their only title before 2008 came in 1980, five years before I was born. My pop-pop didn’t long enough to see their second World Series. He died on January 25, 2007, almost ten years to the day that mom-mom passed.
When mom-mom left us, I was given a few pieces of jewelry to remember her by. When pop-pop left, I had baseball. I started watching again, believing again. It wasn’t just about being a fan. It was about my pop-pop. I knew that, even though he wasn’t here with me, we were still watching the games together and hoping for that miracle.
I don’t know what’s going to happen next week with our IUI. What I do know is that regardless of what happens, I will still have the Phillies and the memory of my pop-pop. And I hope that, someday, I can pass those memories along to our miracles—our children.