Not just a funnel cake

Yesterday was quite a day. All day I felt like I was running around like a maniac getting things done without a moment to breathe. Finally my father called me and asked if I could run an errand for him. I tell him yes, because I know how stressed he is at work and I really want to help alleviate some of his strain while I am here in Tennessee. As the conversation was coming to an end, his voice suddenly perked up and he asked me in a thick southern accent, “Do you wanna see a ball game tonight?” My brain was saying, “Do I want to watch a group of men hit a ball with a stick for hours? No.” However, my lips said, “Sure! Sounds like fun.” I didn’t say yes because I have a problem with saying no. I have no issue saying, “No.” In fact it is one of my favorite words. However, love is an action and not just a word that you spit out when it is convenient. I love my father so I am more than willing to power through several hours of my life and force myself to like overpaid men standing around all night not hitting a ball with a stick, and enjoy myself and his company. I have learned in my life that if you come into something determined to have fun, you will end up having fun even if it is not your thing. Pretty much you have to make it your thing for the time.

As the late evening approached I made sure to eat a large bowl of rice pasta and finish it off with a cake. I wanted to make sure that I would not be hungry during the game and boy, was I stuffed when I had finished eating. An hour later, my father comes home and rushes me out the door saying, “Hurry up! I don’t wanna be late!” We hop into his new shiny silver car and zoom over to the stadium filled with country boys and southern girls, rootin’ and tootin’ with mugs of bubbly cold beer sloshing in their hands. My father turns to me bright-eyed and full of excitement and asked me if I wanted nachos while excitedly pointing to the stand containing numerous sodium-packed items of pure gluttonous joy. Looking up into his big brown eyes I thought to myself, “I guess I can fit nachos in my already full stomach without getting sick. I’ll just have to eat slowly.” So I replied with, “SOUNDS GREAT!” In the most enthusiastic voice that I could muster up. We pass by the nacho stand and I watch my very ADHD father see a pizza sign, his eyes light up even more. “Girl.” He says to me in a thick southern accent while licking his lips and gazing at the giant slice of plastic pizza over a tiny stand containing trapped humans serving slices. “You have GOT to try their pizza. Every time I go here they always run out and I have to get a hot dog. Their hot dogs are nasty. Let’s get some pizza.”

“I guess I can fit a slice of pizza in my stomach.” I think to myself as I look down at my stomach and imagine it begin to expand till I pop like a balloon. “Okay! But then no nachos.” I think my father misunderstood me when I said the words, “No nachos,” interpreting it as a question because he immediately responds with, “No! It’s okay! You will get both!” Thanks for spoiling your little girl, dad. There is absolutely no way in hell that my tiny body can fit both pizza and nachos inside of me after eating pasta and cake. That is my version of going to an all-you-can-eat buffet and eating all of it, literally. I had to quickly let my dad know that I can’t handle both nachos and a slice of pizza so I told him that I will just stick with the pizza. He nodded without really listening to me due to the fact that the deep dish pan pizza was calling out to him like a siren on the rocks. As soon as we get our pizza, we sat down in our seats and gazed onto the light-drenched baseball diamond as players from both teams displayed the convulsing movements and contortions that they like to call “warm ups.” Some of this movements made me laugh out loud because of the extent of ridiculousness that was exhibited while maintaining an earnest face that seemed to say, “Look at how awesome I look when I chew on my tobacco and how far I can spit. I am SO cool.”

My father quickly stands up and tells me he will be right back. This should have been a warning sign to me but I was too distracted by the row of women and gay men in front of me taking more selfies of themselves than Kim Kardashian does on a good hair day. In fact I was impressed by the length of time they were able to obsess and take and post selfies of themselves. (Hint, it lasted the entire game and bonus! They brought selfie sticks.)

My dad returned more excited than ever with two MASSIVE funnel cakes covered in powdered sugar. I am pretty sure that my face turned a new shade of pale as I wondered how I am going to fit so much food inside of me. Of course I thanked him and made a quick mental note that my father is no longer allowed to be unaccompanied at a ball game. I also acknowledge that this is his form of showing the action of love by buying me a tremendous amount of food at an event that he treasures and enjoys immensely. 

I admit, I could not finish the food. It was far too much. Despite having no interest in baseball, I maintained a good attitude and even found myself screaming at the players like a banshee to root on my father’s favorite team, the “Tennessee Smokeys.” Life isn’t about experiencing only the things that you are interested in. Life is about spending time with those that you love and if you truly love them, taking an interest in what they love. Truly loving someone means going to that baseball game and rooting for the team even though I would much rather be in nature taking a walk or writing a book. Truly loving someone means setting down your work and saying, “I have limited time with you in this life so I will spend as much as I can making memories.” I will never be interested in baseball, but I will always remember how much my father smiled when he watched me scream at the baseball players “GO! MOVE FASTER! GET THAT GOAL!” Then learning that it isn’t called a goal.

Yet a goal was achieved. A dad and his daughter spent an evening at a baseball game and created an indelible memory of love.