Game 3 of the 2013 World Series, the Cardinals are home, and I'm cheering them on from my Brooklyn apartment. It's funny; when I was growing up in St. Louis, I couldn't wait to get out of what felt like a suffocating suburban purgatory. But time and circumstances can change everything. Now I'm a proud Midwesterner who looks forward to every visit.
Watching the Cards brings back memories of our split level with the dinette set featuring a faux-wood blue table and white pleather swivel chairs. My brother, C, would lie on the downstairs family room floor, eating Oreos and drinking gallons of milk, cheating the family pudge thanks to the miles he swam every day.
Decades later, I live a world away from my pink bedroom and green Gremlin. Now when I go back, I marvel at the ease of living and cherish the family and friends who know me best of all. I fantasize about a backyard with a trampoline for my boy. I value the things I took for granted.
I'm not sure when I'll return to the nest. But tonight, the Cards are bringing it home, and bringing me home, too.
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