My daughter is proof-positive that nature beats nurture when it comes to raising your kids (at least some of the time).

Some moms of baby girls look forward to dressing them in pigtails and pretty outfits, helping them decorate their doll houses with just the right dainty furniture, and seeing their first dance recital. Not this Mom.

I’ve never discouraged her from playing with dolls or from wearing the frilliest dresses for every major holiday (like days that end in Y), and believe me it shows. Growing up a tomboy who had no interest in Barbie, or playing house, or dresses, I’ve always felt a little ill-equipped in this department.

However, when it comes time to help out at my daughter’s basketball or t-ball practice, I feel like I shine a little bit brighter as her Mom. And my greatest joy this Mother’s Day weekend was taking her to her first Red Sox game.

This was dangerous for me. I knew I risked being disappointed if boredom set in after the second inning. As it turned out though. she loved it! We made sure she had the proper attire: a Red Sox hat, with just a bit of sparkle around the B, and I “Heart” Red Sox-shirt, with a heart-shaped baseball emblazoned on the front. She was raring to go.

As a family, we took in the sights and sounds of Yawkey Way. My son and daughter each played a little catch with a guy on stilts, and we munched on Fenway Franks before taking our seats.

There's nothing better than a Fenway Frank

Once the game started, I fully expected the whining to begin, but then I offered to show my daughter how to score the game. I had downloaded a kids’ version of a baseball scorecard, do that she could mark the progress of each Red Sox batter. To my delight, she really took to it! For each batter, she colored in the little circles that marked whether they got on base. We talked about the players and their nicknames (I think her new favorite is ‘Salty‘), and the difference between a ball and a strike. Thanks to Cody Ross, she learned where the Green Monster is, too.

We worked on scoring the game together

Ironically, all the while, my husband had to console my teary-eyed 7-yr old son who had spilled his lemonade.

She’s only 5 years old, so how much of that night she will remember is anyone’s guess, but this tomboy Mom will never forget her first Red Sox Game.

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