I am really glad that I bought that Red Sox hat. I inhaled a deep breath, and the smell of hamburgers and french fries filled my nose. I was four years old. My dad and I were at the Silver City Galleria Mall in Taunton. We had to make a lot of stops, and none of the stores were really entertaining to me. “Dad,” I asked at one point, my head craned at a ninety-degree angle to see his face, “why do we have to go to all of these grown-up stores?” The only real fun part was when we got to go to the Food Court to have lunch. With greasy food and loud, annoying kids on the indoor playground, even this was not pleasant. This day at the mall was not the best day for me.
Now, around this time, I was just starting my fascination with baseball. I was as fascinated with baseball as a scientist is with a new species. I was beginning to understand the game by watching the Red Sox with my dad, and could not wait to play T-ball. When my dad came up to me one day and asked “Would you want to play T-ball?” I just about shot through the roof with excitement. Of course, my favorite team was the Red Sox, and I instantly became attached to anything that had their logo on it. I was a starfish, stuck to this team. I wanted a jersey, a bat, a glove-but what I wanted most was a hat. I have loved hats since my dad got me one when I was only two weeks old, and a Red Sox one would mean the world to me.
After I chowed down on as much Burger King as my four-year-old stomach could hold, my dad and I started our way out to the car through J.C. Penney. Feeling tired and not satisfied with the mall excursion, I could not wait to get home. When we got about halfway through the store, I stopped dead in my tracks. My dad noticed my feet were glued to that spot and questioned, “What are you looking at, buddy?” Then, he followed my intense gaze and discovered what was mesmerizing me. A rack of brand new Red Sox hats was smack in front of my round little face, and I could not look away. “Ah, I see,” he said “you want a hat. Go ahead, take one, we’ll buy it on the way out.” I could not believe what he had just said, and I felt as if I had been hit with an 800-volt electric shock. After searching frantically for the best one, I grabbed the brightest, bluest hat that I could reach and practically ran to the checkout counter. My dad also got the same hat, and I thought that it was so cool. When the man at the counter saw me clutching my new hat, it was as if he was reading my mind. “First Red Sox hat, huh?” he asked. I nodded eagerly as he rang up the hats and asked if we wanted it in a bag. I said no (being so excited and all), and we both wore our new hats out of the store with big smiles on our faces.
Since then, that navy blue hat has turned gray and sweat-stained, ripped at the seams. But no matter what happens to it, it will always be my favorite hat.
Good detail.
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