So there I was, just hanging out at the baseball game. I didn’t even see it coming. The elementary school choir filed out onto the field in the rain and huddled under their black umbrellas to sing the national anthem. ‘How cute’ I thought, blissfully ignorant as I fumbled around piling up the blankets and stashing the peanuts in an effort to stand up. As I covered my heart with my hand, my eyes met the flag flapping over center field and I started to choke up.
OK, to be honest, I completely stopped breathing and salty water started pouring down my cheeks. I didn’t even have time to sob, it was as if the cork fell out of my tear ducts and got stuck in my throat. I don’t mean to imply that I am anything less than a true patriot–but I did not expect to feel so strongly about the ol’ stars and stripes after an hour and a half rain delay on a chilly Friday night in March.
A flood of thoughts welled up inside–we really are leaving the country, aren’t we…geez–I can’t believe I’m crying like a baby right here in the stands–knock it off, you are embarrassing the boys…but we won’t be hearing our national anthem or saying the pledge of allegiance again any time soon…there is no possible way I can be pregnant, but this reminds me of how I couldn’t stop crying at a kodak commercials until I had given birth…but, still, will the boys even remember them when we get back?…will all those ‘amazing experiences’ outweigh the cozy comfort of holding your hand over your heart while hearing about bombs bursting in air or singing along with the crowd during the seventh inning stretch?…relax, I tell myself, you are not pregnant and it’s not like they won’t let us back in.