Took my oldest daughter to the Rockies game the other night.
    I’m used to kind of slumming it when we go see the Rockies, if there is such a thing anymore with the money that the average family shells out to go see a professional sporting event.
    That wasn’t the case for this game. We scored some pretty plush seats to take in the ballgame, thanks to a very generous benefactor.
    But it’s special when you take a child to a ballgame, regardless of whether you’re on the luxury level or in the cheap seats. You can see the excitement in your child’s eyes.
    That excitement for my 5-year-old daughter comes from a little bit of a different place.
    Mainly, where and what we will eat. My daughter shares my svelte frame and my endless appetite. Needless to say, a lot of nights at our dinner table resemble a National Geographic television special as we clamor over any discarded scraps of food.
    To my credit, I knew keeping my daughter eating was the key to me enjoying more of the baseball game. Even though she’s a rookie T-baller, I knew once the food stopped, she’d completely lose interest in the baseball game.
    For the record, it took a plate of half-eaten nachos, seven chicken wings and some vegetables for it happen. But, sure enough, by the fourth inning, she was pretty antsy. She wanted to know what time it was about every five minutes and, even though she was full, she wanted to know if she could go get me something else to eat.
    I tried the lazy, 21st century-parent approach at first. I handed her my cell phone so she could play some updated version of Pong – that game never gets old. That bought me about an inning.  Her wanting to sit on my lap bought us another inning and a half.
    Then I tried to do some old fashioned, baseball education including a clumsy exclamation of the pitcher’s mound that left my daughter wondering, “Why is he standing on a pile of dirt?”
    The blessing came in the seventh inning with not only the seventh inning stretch but also a trip to get ice cream. And, even though my daughter’s not too big on the sweets, the euphoria over a trip to the ice cream stand was fun enough.
    As I drove home, my daughter asleep in the backseat, I couldn’t even frown over another Rockies loss.
    The game didn’t matter to her. Somewhere down the road, she’ll remember her special night with her dad to the ballpark.
    She won’t remember the score.
    And, you know, I probably won’t either.