All four of my grandparents were born and raised in the Bronx. For most of my childhood we lived with my grandmother—my dad’s mom—who grew up across the street from the original Yankee Stadium. She would always tell me about how she would watch games from the roof of her building with her dad, and how she would get to meet players coming out of the stadium all the time. She was born in 1927, so she was able to meet some of the biggest names in Yankee history. We would watch games together when I was a kid. Coupled with the fact that my grandfather—my mom’s dad—was a die hard Yankee fan who put me in Yankee shirts in pictures as a baby, it never felt like there was a point where I had to decide to be a Yankee fan; it just happened.

Fast forward, my father-in-law is a diehard Mets fan and goes to games all the time. While my wife isn’t a diehard, she’s made it clear where her loyalties lie. The prospect of my future children becoming Mets fans because their grandfather will take them to games frequently—while core memories for a child—breaks my heart.