Yep. I always thought it was weird that my dad was a Yankees fan (he grew up in upstate NY) but didn’t really care about them one way or another. He taught me a lot about baseball and he supported my budding love of the White Sox when I was growing up but Yankee games didn’t dominate the TV and he showed no real emotion about them. I think the ‘94 strike kinda wiped him out, and I don’t think I’ll be as chilled about as he is, but I definitely understand now how fandom changes from boyhood into manhood.
Honestly, I think one of the most beautiful aspects about the game for me these days is how it ties my whole life together. I’ve had a whacky life and I’ve been all over the world, but for all the differences, the Sox have always been there. Whether it was living in Chicago and secretly listening to them on my portable radio after bedtime, or living in Spain and having stateside relatives send me game tapes, or being in a faraway state at college using this newfangled Facebook thing to gather fellow Sox fans for the World Series (unsuccessfully, I might add), or fiddling with the radio at an airfield in southern Afghanistan so I could listen to Chris Sale dominate some poor bastards, the Sox have always been there tying it together. So I think that’s a cool impact on my own life, and I’m grateful for it.