I hope I never forget the fun I had with my Dad and brother, in our backyard in our small Massachusettes town, "Hit a pop fly to me, Dad!" We had such a nice home, with a long uphill driveway and a HUGE frontyard hill that we used for sledding int the winter, complete with a stone wall at the bottom, which was our final jumpoff point into the spot where my Dad grew flowers in the summertime. The one memory I'd like to overlook is the time my brother smacked me in the face with a wiffle ball! (It hurts pretty bad when you're 9 10 years old - well, it's it's more startling than painful). What a beautiful place to grow up. And of course, my first ballgame was at Fenway!