I’m gonna do a thread about my dad and the Mets. They were both born the same year, 1962, both in Queens. He was 7 when they won the series the first time. He used to save up the coupons on milk cartons so he could go to games with his brothers.

My mom teased my dad because when they met in college, his winter hat was a free knit cap they’d given away at a game. On one side it said Mets and on the other it said Maxwell House. They started dating as the Mets won in 1986.

My dad took us to games as kids, usually on Sunday afternoons. We’d stop at the deli on the way there so we didn’t need to buy food inside the park. If we didn’t demand helmet cup ice cream, he’d drive us to the Lemon Ice King of Corona after the game. He got the worst flavors.

My mom always told us not to ask him to buy us souvenirs because she knew he’d never say no. The dumbest purchase was a pink hat that said “Mrs. Wright” in rhinestones when I was 12 or 13.

In my mind, the first time I even heard the words “David Wright” I was in the car with my dad listening to the game on the radio. He was pumping gas.

My dad and I went to the last game at Shea Stadium because his brother gave us tickets. I cried during the ceremony and he bought us ices in Corona after.

When Carlos Beltran struck out in the 2006 NLCS I went to my parent’s bedroom for comfort, and all five of us just sat there, disbelieving.

Last year was a comedy of errors, since my dad and @Pete_Alonso20 share a name. If Pete hit a home run and my mom and I yelled his name, my dad always thought we wanted him — even if he was also watching the game in another room.

Even in February and March when he was in rehab and I’d visit him, he’d update me about what he read about the Mets in the newspaper that morning. We watched spring training games on my phone.

This thread has no ending. I miss baseball and I miss my dad.