MY MOTHER TOOK ME TO THE BALLGAME

Such shame!
My mother took me to Ebbets Field,
home of the old Brooklyn Dodgers.
There was no greater embarrassment
than being escorted by my mother.
(Wasn’t that something a dad was supposed to do?)
Neither parent knew the difference
between a football and a baseball,
having spent years in Europe.
I was only hoping that none of my
sixth-grade classmates would see me there.
My mother, though, was quite content
to do her needlework, hardly looking at the field,
while I peeked out from under my jacket
to watch my beloved heroes
in their blue and white uniforms.
I was horrified that my secret would be revealed,
and subsequently mocked the next day in school.
I bobbed between fear and joy.
Only years later did I realize
my mother’s love in taking me,
far outweighed any shame I felt then.