OK so I took my birthday a bit too far and added a little holiday hiatus. But I'm now back.

Last night was of course the annual Home Run Derby.

Though, it was past her bedtime, my three-year old daughter asked, "Can I watch it with you, Daddy?"

How could I resist her plea? With a nod and a glimpse of future pleas she joined me on the couch.

As we cuddled and watched the larger than life players smash tatters out of the yard, she noticed some familiar faces.

"I don't like Big Papi anymore," she stated.

I was, for a moment, in shock. "What? But he's one of Daddy's favorites."

My wife chimed in "Big Papi's a good man. You don't really mean you "don't like him."

In my home, we LIKE everyone, except perhaps guys in pinstripes.

I was beginning to worry, I half-expected her to tell me she liked that Jeter fellow. Her next statement put me at ease.

"I like Manny, now."

Phew, crisis avoided.

My daughter has taken a special interest in baseball of late.

She has been asking me to look at my baseball card collection; she watches the games and now wanted to see longballs leave the yard.

Proud? Just a little.

Her questions are still that of a three-year-old but she beginning to understand.
She cheers the right people at the right time. What more can I ask?

She expresses disappointment at a strikeout, but not as a fan; she feels for the players.

When Justin Morneau was struggling, she simply stated "He's not doing very well, is he?"

"Well, no, dear, but it is difficult to hit a home run."

"Oh."

When Morneau walked away, she asked if he was going to be all right?

"I think he'll be just fine."

I, of course, was thinking of the multi-million dollar contract, the fact that this was all in fun. She on the other hand, was worried about his self-esteem and his feelings.

Oh, she still has a lot to learn but her perspective was welcomed.

Baseball can still have a positive impact on youngsters, especially during the All-Star break. For it is just a game, these guys were having fun - laughing, joking, carrying on. Their families were on the field having a good time.

She took it all in.

Then she started asking tougher questions.

"Why did the guy say there was traffic on the water?"

It's one thing to try an explain a home run let alone why a few dozen people stationed themselves in McCovey's Cove for a chance at retrieving a ball. I don't really know the fasination, though I'm part of the problem.

"Why is that man giving away his bats?"

"That man is one of the greatest players of all time. His name is Willie McCovey. He is handing them to the guys that are going to be hitting home runs as a thank you for coming to his park."

"Why does he have sticks?"

"Well, he is a lot older now and needs them to walk."

"Why is he brown?"

Uh-oh.
Now my daughter has been exposed to people of different ethnicities before. Her favorite player was Ortiz, now Manny, but she had never asked the question of race. I wanted to tell her it was past her bedtime. Instead, I tried to answer the best I could in a manner a three-year-old might understand.

"God created many different types of people in the world with many different colors. And He loves them all. Like your doll Jasmine."

"Where is Jasmine?" "Mommy, can you get me Jasmine? She's in the toyroom."

Like a faithfull servant, my wife came in with Jasmine in hand.

"Jasmine is brown. I'm white. My feet are white, too."

"Yes, that's right. Everybody is different."

"I love Jasmine."

"I do too."

Tonight it's the All Star game. It's going to be fun watching the many Sox players take the feild. Beckett, Ortiz, Manny, Okajima, Lowell, Papelbon. We'll sit together and hope that Big Papi hits a home run for real this time.

Oh and of course Manny, too.

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