The narrator reminisces about childhood memories at Fenway Park with his father, exploring a dream where they connect in the stands. The father, seen in his prime, creates a shared experience that symbolizes deeper emotions tied to identity. Trips to Fenway evoke nostalgia, revealing dynamics of family, memory, and belonging. The father's carefree nature and determination to get closer to the game illustrate their bond through shared experiences. These memories intertwine joy and the struggle of identity, expressing both love and the complexities of being a Black Red Sox fan.
I have a recurring dream about my father and me, one of the few welcome dreams I have about him. We're both in our late thirties, though he's fitter than I remember him ever being. We're at Fenway, out in the right-field bleachers, several rows behind Ted Williams's red seat.
I spent a lot of time at Fenway growing up. There'd be a bustling in the house, and my brother, David, would tell me to get my glove. At first, I'd think the two of us were going to play catch in the street, or our father was going to take us out to practice grounders and flies.
If my father told us to 'bring coats 'cause there might be a chill,' I knew we were going to Fenway. We would drive there in my dad's Catalina, which was the color of amber ale.
My father never seemed to worry about traffic. He'd ease along shoulders or speed down side streets to find a parking spot. If he couldn't find one, there was always some secret lot he knew of.
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