The Best Seat in the Stadium

My grandfather took me to my first baseball game in 1998. This summer, I took him back to the same stadium for his ninetieth birthday.

He walked slowly, with his cane, but he refused a wheelchair. We sat in the same section as we had all those years ago, behind first base. He bought me a hot dog and a soda, as always, and wouldn't let me pay.

He kept score in a little pencil scorebook, the way he always has. He explained every play to me, as if I were still eight. I didn't tell him I already knew.

In the seventh inning, the stadium put a message on the big screen: "Happy 90th, Walt! Thanks for 70 years of cheering!" The whole section turned around and sang to him. He raised his hot dog in the air like a toast.

He dozed off in the passenger seat before we even left the parking garage, scorebook in his lap. I carried it inside for him. The home team lost. It didn't matter at all.