Revised Nonfinction

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. One memory continuously made itself present in my conscious train of thought while digging through the bin of past experiences: a vacation to Minneapolis for a Twins game with my father and my sister. Who can forget their first Major League Baseball game? Not me apparently. Nine innings of father-son bonding over America’s favorite past time, truly a time-tested institution in the American Dream.
The year was 1996. It was the dead of summer and time for our annual 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, but rarely did we ever leave town on an expedition. The past few summers he had taken my sister and I to the Black Hills for tours of all the landmarks including Mount Rushmore, Wall Drug, Reptile Gardens, Historic Deadwood and a few museums along the way as well. One year, our trip conveniently aligned with the motorcycle rally in Sturgis, which is definitely a must for an eight year old child. My dad’s brother, Randy, lived in Rapid City and we typically stayed at his house. I remember he had no air conditioning or no cable television. The heat was bad, but the boredom of four channels was nearly intolerable. I also vividly remember nearly choking to death on a slice of cheeseburger pizza. The memories from my uncles house remain a little depressing, but once we got out on the town, things typically went better.
This year we decided to go east instead. It was my first time spending any time in Minneapolis, so there was a level of excitement for what may come. The itinerary included a Major League Baseball game, Valley Fair and the Minnesota Zoo. We left very early on a Friday morning. I cannot recall the exact time, but it was earlier than the 1:00 p.m. mornings I was used to during 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 crosswords, word searches and other mildly entertaining novelties of the sorts. I do recall there being plenty of candy in the kit, most likely to keep us children sugared up so we could entertain our father the whole way there.
The first stop was Valley Fair. It should be every child’s paradise with all kinds of 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 than I, wasn’t much more of an adrenaline junkie that I was, so we stuck to the rides like bumper cars and had a good time doing it. My sister eventually convinced me to take the Ferris wheel for a spin, which I did enjoy despite my acrophobia. After taking Valley Fair for all we wanted, our next destination was the Minnesota Zoo.
I was thrilled making the trip to the zoo and actually had some aspiration to become a zoologist at the time. Dad’s 1985 Cutlass Classic pulled into the parking lot and found a spot amongst the sea of cars. We made our way to the gates with a swarm of other patrons. The place was busy. At the gate, we found 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. My father, my sister and I like out space, which was hard to come by, so our tour around the place was abbreviated.
One animal exhibit sticks out in my mind. The previous spring at school I had selected the Malaysian tapir to write a report on. The tapir is a peculiar pig-like creature with coloring like a panda bear. It was probably not the most popular animal in the zoo, but I certainly had a special appreciation for it having a vast knowledge of the creature. We probably spent more time at that exhibit than any other while I fed my family useless knowledge of the over-sized rat. When claustrophobia had thoroughly consumed each of us, we made our way to the exit and called it a day as the sun began to sink towards the horizon. 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, a slow paced game where they actually play the sport 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 the excitement auto racing and had really not paid too much attention to anything. I wasn’t the bright eyed little boy in the Twins hat and the glove giddy to be at his first major league game, nor was I in awe at the heroes on the field. I was, however, in awe at the spectacle itself that was a professional sporting event. The crowds, the noise and the energy impressed me and are still why I love sporting events to this day
We met up with my Uncle Bob at the motel and collected for breakfast before we left. Bob had come from Sioux Falls to take in the game with us. My Uncle Bob is an eccentric man, which is probably why I like him. He is a tall, lanky Norwegian with a good sense of humor, an infectious smile and amusing expressions. He was good friends with my father, even though they were only bound by the in-law title. He 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. After that we found our seats midway up just slightly to the right of home base. The seats were good enough to see all the action, even though I always lost the ball against the white roof of the Metrodome. 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. 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.
Kirby Puckett was my hero for about a week after the game. It was too bad his legend had worn off me before he and a few other Twins visited my high school a number of years later and told our class to not do drugs and stay in school.
The game marked the finale end of trip. We said goodbye to Uncle Bob and went back to our motel for supper and a nice swim before we turned in for the night. The next morning our bags were packed and we were on the road back to Watertown. I considered it a successful vacation. There was learning, excitement and adventure and no serious injuries. There were also some lasting memories to recall in a fit of nostalgia years later while writing, say, maybe a paper due for class.