I was a child of immigrant parents, parents that focused on work and grades. lucky for me, our neighbors, the Marxes had more time. Mr Marx insisted on taking me out to the ballgame with him. I was too young to understand his life situation, just a few years after he lost a son my age.
I acted like a spoiled kid. I kept asking when the game would end. I wish I could personally thank this neighbor for taking me to my first game at Shea stadium in New York.