It may only be the second day of October, but Miles is EXTREMELY READY for Halloween. He also really likes baseball. So when I found out that Truist Field, home of the Charlotte Knights, was hosting a pumpkin patch event on the ball field, I felt like fate was aligning to create the perfect event for Miles.
And perhaps it was. But I’ll tell you two people it wasn’t perfect for…me and Jaclyn.
For some reason I cannot wrap my brain around, the braintrust at Truist Field decided pumpkin patch weekend would be the perfect time to also host a Taste of Charlotte event with tons of food vendors and a ticketing system that, despite having traversed the entire length of the concourse, I still can’t explain.
If there was a place to purchase tickets, I sure as hell didn’t see it. Maybe it was because the concourse was crammed with shoulder-to-shoulder foot traffic, with largely maskless hordes choking the walkways as they waited, clustered around vendors to cram untold amounts of brisket and pork belly down their gullets (to be fair, ALL the food SOUNDED good).
Was the event “family friendly” as advertised? Only if you’re not a parent concerned with 1) losing your child in a crowd or 2) COVID-19. And fording the river of humanity was essential to reach the entrance to the field. So yeah, Jaclyn and I were having anxiety attacks within minutes, and if I hadn’t already paid for the pumpkins we’d have been out the door immediately.
But Miles? Oh, yeah, Miles had a blast.
We hadn’t revealed the plan for the day to him, simply made vague promises of “going somewhere special” and “YOU BETTER START LISTENING BETTER OR WE’RE NOT GOING ANYMORE.” Stuff like that.
So once we got to the ball field (not the ball PARK), Miles was excited to start investigating pumpkins (he naturally went for the goopy, busted ones first) and running around all over the place.
From the adult perspective, it’s hard to view this as a success given how stressful it was. But as we drove home, I asked Miles if he had fun. “Yeah!” he replied. And that, God help me, is what really matters.
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 