I have now returned from my trip to San Francisco, where I saw my son, Patrick, and his family. I had the great pleasure on Saturday of watching my grandson, Samuel, get a hit and an RBI in his baseball game. Samuel’s team lost, but they are assured a slot in the semifinals for the league championship and will play again tomorrow. Since this was San Francisco, all the kids are rabid Giants fans, and I sat in the little stands with the cheering parents wearing a Giants cap provided by my son. The teams are all named after big league teams [Samuel plays for the Rockies], all except the L. A. Dodgers, the Giants’ mortal enemies. Samuel explained to me that the kids who had to play for the DODGERS would feel bad. When I was a boy, seventy years ago, I was a Brooklyn Dodgers fan and the New York Giants were the enemy, but grandparental loyalty takes precedence over childhood memories, so I soberly agreed that it would indeed be terrible for a kid to be saddled with the stigma of playing for the Dodgers.
I have a Southwest visa card on which I have amassed a ton of points, so my trip out and back was free, but you know Southwest. Coming home I flew from San Francisco to Milwaukee to Orlando [!!] to Raleigh Durham. For my foreign readers, just take a look at a map and you will see how insane that is. On the other hand, all the flights were on time or early, and no one was dragged off kicking and screaming. You can’t ask for more than that.