Me and the Ghost of Babe

There’s something very deeply rooted about our sports attachments, it gives us a sense of home and binds us as one nation.

And who can't be rooted to the Boston Red Sox.

They make us happy, even through tough seasons.

My attachment to the Red Sox goes back to my first memories of Brookline, Massachusetts. Sunday lunch stories included Babe Ruth stories, who, decades before I was born, had sat at the same table I was at. He was a favorite guest at the dinner table of my father's great-aunt and uncle. The ghost of Babe Ruth loomed in that big dark dining room on Kent Street.

My father's relatives surrounded themselves with interesting people. They held dinner parties, lively conversations---laughter was loud and hearty. Even though I was very young, and they were very old, I was connected to them, their world, their dining room, their stories, their Babe.
Even though the old aunts and uncles had long since passed, that house and all it represented was a great memorable home, a testament to times past and lives well lived.