The Boys in Blue at Fenway, Summer 2010.
Today is opening day at Dodger Stadium and I’m feeling a little homesick. I wish I could teleport to Chavez Ravine for some good old-fashioned rooting for the boys in blue. The deeper part of being homesick and thinking about the Dodgers is missing my Dad.
This is a short piece I wrote around this time last year in my nonfiction writing class. It was a quick assignment, so it’s pretty rough around the edges. But, the writing is just as true today as it was last year.
It’s my favorite time of year right now. It’s the time for hot dogs, garlic fries, and frozen lemonade. It’s the time of year when the field is a dark and light green chess board with an edge of burnt red dirt. It’s the time of year when Vin Scully’s voice is sweet music to my ears. It’s the time of year to sing and do a seventh-inning stretch. It’s the time of year when I don’t leave until the game is over and they play “I Love LA.” It’s baseball season and I am a Dodgers fan.
My love for the Dodgers is as much a part of me as my Japanese heritage, my love for photography, and my very DNA. Like many things in my life, there is a back story to my love. On the surface, I was born and raised in Pasadena, a suburb in Los Angeles County and a short 20 minutes away from Dodger Stadium. They were my home team by the mere fact of simple geography. My parents are Dodger’s fans. My dad has a fly ball he had caught at a game and later had signed by Dusty Baker. One of my parent’s first dates was to a Dodgers game, which was my Mom’s first Major League Baseball game. Both of my older brothers played little league and collected basbeball cards. I distinctly remember going to games as a family when I was younger.
My father’s love for the Dodgers came from his father, who still watches Dodger games or listens on the radio while he wears his blue member’s only jacket. My grandpa loves the Dodgers and sat in the field box with sports photographers, snapping photos of the boys in blue.
When I decided to pack my bags and head East for college, my father told me one thing, “If you become a Red Sox fan, I’ll disown you.” I know my Dad joking, but at the same time, there’s a part of him that means it. For our family, the Dodgers are part of the glue that holds us together. Like faith, and tradition, and love, the Dodgers are another facet of my family.
This is my favorite time of year. It’s the time of year when it’s okay to match my family because we’re all wearing blue. It’s the time of year when I’ll sit on the back porch with my Dad listening to the the crack of a ball and bat transmitted over radio waves and into the cool evening air. It’s the time of year when I will stand up screaming alongside my brother’s when the Dodgers are beating the Giants. It’s the time of year to know my blood runs royal blue just like the rest of my family.