As a Midwestern farm family in the 1980s and ‘90s, we vacationed on a tight budget. Summer trips were simple and predictable: camping in our trusty pop-up with fishing poles and old Archie comic books for entertainment.

So the summer we drove to the East Coast twice was epic for many reasons. I was 12, and my older cousin was graduating from the Naval Academy in May and getting married in August, necessitating two trips to Maryland. Despite the whirlwind stops we made along the way—Chicago, Washington, D.C., New York City, Philadelphia—one stop stood out as an unforgettable detour: the journey to French Lick, Indiana, home of Larry Bird.

My parents planned a visit to Larry Bird’s high school gym for my college-aged brother, a diehard Celtics fan. It was 1992, and Bird had just retired from the league.

While walking into Spring Valley High School wasn’t significant for me, my brother’s excitement was palpable. We were in the gym where the legend was born. A kind janitor let us in and put a ball in my brother’s hands. He took a few shots at the same hoop as his basketball hero. After soaking in the team photos and the extensive list of Bird’s high school stats, we drove by Bird’s childhood home. It was the first of many “pilgrimages to the holy land,” as my brother describes it. His grin that day was a big as his life-size cardboard cut-out of Bird that stood in prominence in his childhood bedroom.

More than just basketball, that stop was about family.

As parents, we make decisions that bring joy to our children, even when they come at a cost. For my parents, that detour meant we returned home to farm work and accumulating bills later than they would have liked. It meant more money spent on gas and another meal on the road. My sister and I couldn’t have cared less about the Celtics that summer, and our whiny complaints surely filled the backseat of the rented van. But my parents made the sacrifice because of that smile on our brother’s face.

That kind of sacrifice made more sense to me when I became a parent myself and logged endless hours watching “Phineas and Ferb,”cooking my kids’ favorite meals on repeat and accumulating miles on the SUV driving back and forth to sports practices and games.

My husband and I adopted our sons from Ethiopia at ages 7 and 8. In their home country, they grew up dribbling a soccer ball, but life in the Midwest meant they had to learn to dribble a basketball, too. They joined pick-up games on the court at recess and played in the rec league with their new friends. Perhaps because of his uncle's influence, my younger son chose the Celtics as his team.

Because it gave me common ground with my son — especially during his teenage years when I grasped at any kind of connection — I rooted for them, too. What started as half-hearted spectating turned into full-fledged fandom. I listened to podcasts, studied bench players and fell in love with the past and present of “our” team. I realized I was a true fan when I found myself watching the games even when my son was out with friends or at his own basketball practice.

Last summer, during the Celtics’ historic championship run, my husband surprised my son and me with matching Jaylen Brown jerseys. We donned them during Game 5, jumping and hugging when Brown was announced as the 2024 Bill Russell Finals MVP. My son had just graduated from high school and would be moving to college in a few months. That playoff season was a gift: The Celtics provided us with time together in a season designed for pulling apart.

The next fall, with both boys in college, I started to dream about spring break. We knew our window for family travel was closing. The boys agreed to spend spring break with us, and my husband and I decided it was time to make our own pilgrimage — to see the Celtics in Boston.

My childhood trip to French Lick was in the back of my mind as I imagined my sons seeing our favorite team on their home court.

Like my parents, my husband and I knew the trip would require sacrifice. With two kids in college, our budget is tight, but the benefits of the trip outweighed our financial concerns. Our sons will soon launch into full independence. Once they have careers and partners of their own, they’ll likely prioritize trips with friends and significant others over time with us. And unlike the stress of a road trip with young kids, flying with young adults is a breeze. So we booked the flights and bought tickets to a home game.

Stepping into TD Garden was like a slow-motion movie sequence. While this wasn’t Bird’s gym, I still felt his presence. The parquet floor was just as beautiful in person as I had imagined it would be. Best yet, we felt right at home as we got swept up in the sea of green.

After descending closer to the court for photos, we settled into our seats for a night with our team. For a couple of unforgettable hours, we didn’t think about upcoming exams, tuition bills and the general stress of 2025. Instead of thinking about tariffs, immigration and our retirement accounts, we got caught up in the cheers and jeers, pumping our fists and stomping our feet with the crowd. Our sons were caught up in the hometown energy, high-fiving after every Al Horford three-pointer and rolling their eyes every time Shai Gilgeous-Alexander made it to the free-throw line.

More than once, I caught my husband’s eye, and we shared a smile. The sacrifice was worth it.

Our team lost to the Thunder that night, but that’s not what I will remember.

I’ll remember how we soaked up the in-person energy of our team and a city we had grown to love. I ate my weight in cannolis in the North End. We wandered bookstore aisles in Harvard Square. Our family discovered nooks and crannies in the historic city that became more to us than just the home of our beloved Celtics.

Now we’re back to pinching pennies for tuition, worrying over the news and cheering from our couch in Minnesota. But for a few hours in March, we experienced the fervor of fandom in Boston. More than just basketball, it was about family.

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