Father's Day in Charm City

A few days ago, my wife asked me if there was anything I would like to do for Father's Day. My feelings about Father's Day are complex. Being an orphan and all, it's painful to think about my days growing up in a dark, damp boarding house with the other foundlings. Oh, wait. That wasn't me. I was just watching Oliver on TV and got caught up in the moment. Come to think of it, that movie is a strange choice for Father's Day.

If we're talking about my actual life, I can list a few reactions to the whole thing:

1. I resent the fact that Mothers get their own day, while Father's Day is relegated to "Dads and Grads" territory. My daughter just graduated  high school last week and we've had more than enough of that, thank you.
2. I think that my dad should call me, rather than the other way around, because as the first born, it was only my presence that made him a father in the first place.
3. It is, like most holidays now, an excuse to shop rather than an actual celebration of something.
4. I damn well better get at least as good as I gave on Mother's Day.

There's more, but it gets increasingly dark and introspective, and this is not the venue.

I like being a dad, and I've tried hard to be good at it. I'm not going to judge the quality of my parenting, however, based on the kinds of presents I get. 

Given all that, I thought about what I would like to do on Father's Day more in terms of what I would like to do on any Sunday in mid-June. And of course, the answer to that is, go to a baseball game, of course. The Phillies are out in Colorado at the moment, so I looked at nearby cities and was given the choice of (a) the Mets versus the Cubs at Citi Field, or (b) the Orioles versus Red Sox at Camden Yards in Baltimore. Hmmmmmmm.

So here we are in Baltimore. I don't know Baltimore very well, and with a nickname like "Charm City," I find it both charming and, like most charming things, not to be completely trusted. Honestly, I have no reason to mistrust Baltimore, aside from it's probably coincidental role in my getting shingles (I was here when I first noticed the rash and itch). I just don't know it.

We're staying at a nice hotel on the Inner Harbor. I think Inner Harbor, along with perhaps Quincy Market in Boston, was the first successful waterfront renewal project in an old downtown area. It's a picturesque little spot, perched on the edge, or perhaps more fittingly on the inside, of a very large and busy harbor. The two anchor attractions are the National Aquarium and Camden Yards. For the mile in between, you are treated to the opportunity to shop at Urban Outfitters, H&M, Jos. A. Bank, and eat at Bubba Gump, Cheesecake Factory, or Hard Rock Cafe, all in a somewhat different-looking place than the last time you shopped or ate there. 

I'm not a big fan of this kind of development, but it's also sprinkled with actual historic ships and silly attractions like street entertainers and paddleboats. We availed ourselves of a paddleboat ride, choosing the big paddleboats that look like dragons. We spent a half hour paddling around the most inner part of the inner harbor, looking at the city from the water and trying not to violate any of the myriad rules for usage and conduct. 

Paddling is surprisingly hard work. At this point, we'd worked up at appetite and headed out for dinner, which I'll cover in a separate post.