Last weekend, I returned to home turf when I traveled to NYC with some classmates from religious school. One of the highlights of the whole trip was being able to wear my Yankee hat without fear of being glared at. I saved up to buy that hat with my own money back in 4th grade, and I wore it proudly to school after it arrived in the mail. It goes without saying that many of my classmates were less than thrilled. What was better was when there were Red Sox pep rallies or spirit days. I would were my Yankee shirt and hat and just revel in their reactions–they never changed.
The one that stands out the most was at lunch where a whole table across the room was staring at me in disbelief. Of course, I waved happily at them and then ignored it, but as my friends and I got older, my carefree attitude toward the animosity disappeared. I wore that hat less and less to avoid any conflict; in a way, they had won and ruled over me like dictators. It was nice for a weekend to get away from the fear and wear my hat with pride. As long as there weren’t Mets fans around.
It’s deja vu all over again.