a night at the ballpark.

I felt like a kid again, holding tight to Jess' hand as we walked toward the Cell for the Sox game last night.

Thoughts of my dad hustling four of us from the car to the entrance of the old Comiskey ran through my head.

Memories of the homeless guys with cups and the peanut vendors (the nuts are better and cost half as much on the outside of the park, dad always said) came to life on this perfect Tuesday evening.

Sox games link me to my childhood, even at a different park and being a mom, it's like taking a step backward in my history.

As kids, my dad took us there a few times a summer. There was ComEd family night (Commonwealth Edison back then). And I could usually pull a few As and Bs to earn free tickets for another game.

In 1983, Chrissy and I were at the park with mom and dad when the Sox clinched their Division title. We waved our big foam fingers and wondered why mom and dad wouldn't let us run onto the field with the rest of the crazies.

Now, with Jess, I have a real good idea why.

I sat next to Jim D. last night and told him I could literally hear my dad in the stands. And for the record, this isn't an obit... my dad is still alive and well and coming to a game with us next month!

"Awww, for chrissakes!" I heard dad say.

Oh, wait, that was me.

The Sox couldn't seem to hit the ball out of the infield for the first five innings.

"My grandma coulda caught that ball," I hollered at Podsednik, who let what looked like an easy fly drop in front of him.

Jess sat through the entire game, ate everything in sight, and complained just a little. Much like I probably was at the age of seven with my dad.

But surrounded by friends, and relaxing in the left field bleachers, I wouldn't have changed a thing.

Except maybe to have dad sitting there with us.