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July 04, 2008


dan wickett

It's nice when the kids help you realize you're jumped the gun a bit. My parents began taking me to Red Wings games when I was four. The following year, my sister would have just been turning four when the season started again and they took us both to a game. Sometime during the third period, after having said she was enjoying the game a few times, my sister asked my mom where the ice was. Just a little young.


We took our kids to the fireworks for the first time this year: they're 8 and 11. We probably waited too long, but no meltdowns at 10:30 pm. And they got to appreciate the hilarity of a the fireworks debris setting a nearby building's roof on fire, and the fire trucks coming, etc.

*I've* never been to a baseball game.

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