Go Tigers!

When I was a kid, growing up in Northern California, my Grandma would send us Detroit Tigers paraphernalia to remind us of home. At the time, I had never lived in Michigan. The Detroit Tigers meant nothing to me. My brothers would wear ball caps with the classic "D" on them, and we always rooted for this team (even though we didn't have a television or listen to the games on the radio).

When I was in third grade we finally moved to the Great Lakes State, back to my mom's stomping ground. Every summer, my parents would load us all up in the family Suburban and take us to a Tigers Game. Keep in mind that the Tigers have been pretty terrible through most of my life, (up until last year when they made it to the World Series and got swept 4-nothing, which in my book is still pretty disgraceful). We tell our friends from all over the US that we are Tigers fans even when it's unpopular. That always gets a laugh.

I bring this up because recently I was doing the kids' laundry. This may sound ordinary, but it's not. At my house when you turn eight years old, Happy Birthday---you get to do your own laundry. Sometimes for one reason or another we get behind and I play catch up on a low activity day. As I neatly folded and piled up the never-ending clothes, I realized that each pile had a Detroit Tigers t-shirt on it. How or when I acquired these, I am unsure. But I know that I am slowly tattooing the image of home on each of my kids' hearts. My littlest one moved here when she was three. Now she's almost seven. More of her childhood memories have been made in Moscow than in West Michigan. As we swam in the Mediterranean Sea this week, my older ones reminisced about jumping the waves in Muskegon.

We have a friend here who is from our hometown. She can play Euchre, talk about apple farmers, and knows all the little places only we would know. When my husband wears his ball cap from his high-school team, she smiles. This week she got a care package from a friend who sent her a t-shirt with an outline of Michigan and the simple word "home". For some reason, the image was painfully acute and I nearly cried right there in the hallway. I suppose because it's the Fall and I know there is no more beautiful place in the whole world than Michigan. Honestly, there's nowhere I'd rather be from. Even though I may not end up there, and the likelihood of living there again is pretty slim, it's a special place. My kids often remind me that if I hadn't moved there, I wouldn't have met my husband and they wouldn't exist.

It makes me wonder what token of pride I will take from Moscow. Maybe I will insist that we eat beet and fish salad on New Years. Or maybe I will drive on the shoulder of the road or ride a city bus just for old times' sake. Maybe I will always crowd people in line at McDonalds. Either way, I will always cheer for the Tigers.