I was not the easiest teenager, a tricky combination of a big personality and a strong distaste for authority. Nevertheless, colleges saw a glimpse of potential, so at seventeen, I went on a roadtrip with my mom and brother to visit a few East Coast colleges.

Naturally, my sweet mother planned the entire thing. I distinctly remember a blue binder full of daily schedules and every logistical detail organized neatly inside. My brother and I contributed our physical bodies to the trip and that was about it.

While I ended up going to school in Ann Arbor, the trip was a blast. I saw Fenway Park, several colleges I no longer remember anything about, and most memorably, Cooperstown, NY, home to the Baseball Hall of Fame.

I couldn’t get enough. Not just of the museum, but also of the history seemingly baked into the town, like the whole place existed purely to celebrate my favorite game. It was the best. However, on our way out of town, I saw a sign that Yogi Berra would be signing autographs the next day. Yogi, the Hall of Famer, one of the best players in history, and I could meet him.

I begged and begged my mom to come back. I didn’t care about the binder or the logistics or that we were supposed to be in New York City the next day. I just wanted to meet Yogi.

After what I remember to be hours of pestering, my mom figured out a new route. She switched our hotels, extended the rental car agreement, and did Lord knows what else to get us back to Cooperstown the next day.

On the drive in, jittery as could be, I asked my mom what she knew about the Yankees legend. As I remember it, she responded with, “I don’t know much, can you tell me about him?” She didn’t have a clue who we were about to meet.

I met Yogi, an experience I’ll never forget, but as I’ve grown older, this story becomes less about a famous baseball player and more about my mom. To me, that day showed me who she truly is—generous, loving, and willing to do absolutely anything for her kids.

Not many people know this story, but if I was writing her biography, it would be the first chapter. This is what excites me about StoryTerrace. Every person is made up of stories, whether they’re oft-repeated tales or ones known by just a couple of kids, and I’d like to help you tell them all.