I can still remember the first baseball game my dad took me to. It was about ten years ago. I was at a 4th of July party in the valley, a heavily wooded area full of deer and other animals. It's about a 10 minute drive from my house. There was a river that cut out jagged cliffs, small ponds, and large marshes where the deer go to have a drink. Every year, we have a party there and everybody comes. My whole family was there, including my twin brother, Mike. Since we are fraternal twins, we look nothing alike. He is a portly boy with thick, black hair. He was wearing his favorite shirt, a long sleeve number with a picture of Bugs Bunny. My dad is a bald man with a fat stomach and thick bifocals. He was dressed in the usual, a Grey one-pocket t-shirt and a pair of really faded blue jeans. He wears a pair of fat, red suspenders and a belt at the same time, for some odd reason. I could only pray that I would not look like him when I grew up. At one point during the games of horseshoes and softball, my dad took Mike and I aside and gave us something in a plain, white envelope. When I asked what it was, he opened it and showed us.
             Since I lived in a large suburb of Cleveland, I thought for sure I was going to see the bright lights, large crowds, and the mammoth brick structure people used to call Cleveland Municipal Stadium. I was going to taste the spicy stadium mustard the Indians made famous. I was going to smell the air that held an aroma of freshly roasted peanuts, Cracker Jacks, and Miller Light beer. But to my amazement, when he showed my brother and me the tickets, I saw the word "Akron-Canton" written down in all silver letters. I wondered what the tickets meant because I had never seen anything like them before. Akron was a city I have only heard of a few times before. I had no idea they had a baseball team. Of course, back then they were called the Akron-Canton Indians, but I didn't care.
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