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I’ve had no less than ten full time legal residences in my twenty nine years, not to mention various summer camps and college. The question of where I am from has never been one I’ve had a good answer for (presently? formerly? originally?) but this has in no way lessened, and perhaps increased, the importance of the idea of home. One place that will always be home, no matter how long - or even if - I’ve ever lived there is my parents’ house. And so upon the realization that I’d not been there since last Christmas, I decided to go home for Columbus Day.

My Mom was away for the day, but this afforded me the opportunity to cram in a full 24 hours of father/son activities. Watching football, checking our fantasy teams, playing horse, cribbage and Settlers, shooting some pool, playing some Nintendo (incidentally, I must pause to acknowledge the genius that is RBI baseball – the first baseball game with real player names, stats, even a four man bench, with plenty of offensive firepower – it’s not called ERA baseball for a reason. And despite being made in the mid eighties, not only does it hold up as a gaming experience, there are even two players from that game that still played in the majors this year. Can you name them?).

I won some, I lost some, I sat suffering with my kindred western New Yorkers as the Bills blew a game to the loathsome Cowboys. Even if Mom didn’t have time to bake a cake, it was still good to be home.


A: Roger Clemens, Julio Franco