Draft of the nonfiction

Forget all that nonsense I published earlier, my topic has changed.

but first, I would like to share a quote that I thought would go well with my story:

"The memories of my family outings are still a source of strength to me. I remember we'd all pile into the car - I forget what kind it was - and drive and drive. I'm not sure where we'd go, but I think there were some trees there. The smell of something was strong in the air as we played whatever sport we played. I remember a bigger, older guy we called "Dad." We'd eat some stuff, or not, and then I think we went home. I guess some things never leave you."

--Jack Handey

My childhood is full of memories, some warm and touching, some weird and awkward, some happy and peaceful, some turbulent and confusing and a lot decaying and untranslatable. There is one that sticks out, or more-so popped into my conscious train of thought while digging through the bin of past experiences, and that would be a vacation to Minneapolis for a Twins game with my father. Who can forget their first Major League Baseball game? Not me apparently. Nine innings of father-son bonding over America’s favorite past time and some nachos, it seems like an ideal family outing.
The year was 1996, I was nine years old and it was time for our annual summer vacation with my father. My parents were divorced when I was very young, around age five, but I still spent time with my father. The visits were mainly Sundays with some full weekends and other events. The past few summers he had taken my sister and I to the Black Hills for a vacation. We hit all the landmarks including Mount Rushmore, Wall Drug, Reptile Gardens, Historic Deadwood and a few museums. One year our trip conveniently aligned with the motorcycle rally in Sturgis, which is definitely a must for an eight year old child. Other memories from trips out west include my uncle’s house with no cable or air conditioning, sweltering summer heat, nearly choking to death on cheeseburger pizza and family acrimony. I have not been to Rapid City since.
This year we decided to go east instead. We were to take in all the scenes the Minneapolis area had to offer including a Major League Baseball game, Valley Fair and the Minnesota Zoo. It was an early morning the day we left, I cannot recall the exact time, but it was earlier than the 1:00 p.m. mornings I was used to during the summer. It may have been the only time I saw the sun on the rise that summer. My mother wanted to us to be entertained on the car ride, so she packed my sister and I all sorts of goodies like coloring books and other mildly entertaining novelties of the sorts. I do recall there being candy in the kit and most likely plenty of it, probably to keep us children sugared up so we could entertain our father the whole way there.
The first stop was Valley Fair. It was every kids paradise, roller coasters, Ferris wheels, log rides and everything else that seemed intimidating to a fat little nine year old who was scared of his own shadow. My sister, a few years older, wasn’t much more of an adrenaline junkie that I was, so we stuck to boring stuff, but had a good time doing it. I was convinced by my sister to take the Ferris wheel for a spin, I did enjoy the ride and may have conquered acrophobia in the process. After taking Valley Fair for all we wanted it for, our next destination was the Minnesota Zoo.
I was thrilled about the zoo and actually had aspirations to become a zoologist at the time. We arrived at the zoo and made our way to the gates with a swarm of other patrons. Little did we know we had actually chosen Free Zoo Day for our first visit to the establishment. It had its pros and cons, but mainly cons. My dad saved Twenty dollars, or whatever it may have cost to enter, but we had to fight congestion no matter where we went. None of the three of us would consider ourselves people persons, so our tour around the place was abbreviated. One animal exhibit sticks out in my mind. It was that of my favorite animal at the time, the Malaysian tapir. The spring before I has written a report on the pig-like creature and to actually see one was an interesting sight. When claustrophobia had thoroughly consumed each of us, we set out to find our motel and get a nights rest before the game the next afternoon.
It was game day now, the Minnesota Twins hosting the New York Yankees at the Metrodome. I would not have considered myself a baseball fan at the time, nor do I now. I have never really appreciated the game of baseball, the slow paced game where they actually play the game about for about 20 minutes and stand around waiting to play the other two hours and 40 minutes. I did not have a great respect for many sports at that time. I preferred the fast action game of hockey and auto racing and had really not paid too much attention to anything else at the time. I wasn’t the bright eyed little boy in the Twins hat and the glove giddy to be at his first major league game. I was not in awe at the heroes on the field nor was I in awe at the spectacle itself that was a professional sporting event, which is now one of favorite things.
We met up with my Uncle Bob before we left motel. He had come from Sioux Falls to take in the game with us. My Uncle Bob is a weird guy, that is probably why I like him. He is a tall, lanky Norwegian with a good sense of humor, an infectious smile and amusing expressions. I don’t know if I dare call him my favorite uncle, but he was the one without a criminal record, so my parents both encouraged his presence and I did not mind it either. He still lives in Sioux Falls, but spends a lot of time riding his Honda Gold Wing around the country in a gang of geriatric motorcycle enthusiasts. None the less, he is a fan of America’s pastime and was ready to watch the Twins play ball.
I can’t tell you who won the game. I do remember bits and pieces of the day however. We got there early enough to watch the players warm up from the front row. Our seats were along the right foul line and good enough to see all the action. I remember Uncle Bob bought a round of ice cream cones which may have been the highlight of the game for me.
I do remember one play from the game, the kind of play that makes sport what it is. It could have been the play that turned me on to baseball for the rest of my life had my mind been a little more open minded. The legendary Kirby Puckett knocked a double into the outfield and rounded first towards second. He then executed an epic slide, losing his batting helmet in the process and narrowly making it to the base before the ball arrived. It wasn’t a home run, there was no run batted in, but it still stuck with me more so than anything else from the game. It was the play that I emulated at home after the game, tossing my Toronto Blue Jays plastic batting helmet off as I slid awkwardly on the grass. The plastic helmet was one piece of swag I picked up from the weekend. I believe I chose the Blue Jays team helmet because blue was my favorite color, further proving my enthusiasm for the game.
Kirby Puckett was my hero for about a week after the game. It was too bad his legend had worn off me before he visited my high school a number of years later telling us all not to do drugs and stay in school. Well Kirby, I stayed in school.
The game was the end of trip. We returned home and back to our regular routines later in the evening. It was a successful vacation, no serious injuries and some memories to recall years later while writing, say, maybe a paper for a class.