I don’t remember what the hot dogs tasted like, or the ice cream, or the peanuts, but I’m certain I had all three and I’m certain they were more than appetizing.

But here’s what I remember from July 30, 1983 — 28 years ago today — during my first trip to Fenway Park as a Red Sox uber-fanatic on the cusp of turning 8 years old.

I remember sitting in the bleachers, staring out at the Green Monster in awe. I remember it was hot, and I remember a large man in front of us berating then-Red Sox manager Ralph Houk with one insult after another.

All game.

The Milwaukee Brewers were in town, although the opponent mattered little, if at all, on this day.

More than anything else, I remember enjoying the game with my dad. We bought a Red Sox yearbook and a game program, and although I could keep score I was too captivated by the vastness of the experience to accurately do so.

So he did it.

The Red Sox hammered the Brewers, 10-5. We saw four home runs, including ones from Paul Molitor, Dwight Evans, Glenn Hoffman and someone by the name of Carl Yastrzemski.

Yaz hit one out, a three-run shot for his eighth of the season, in the fifth inning. My dad spent the next four innings explaining why he was one of the best who ever played the game.

Years would pass before I believed him.

The field was filled with future Hall of Famers, from Molitor and Yaz; to Robin Yount and Jim Rice; to Wade Boggs and Bob Stanley (just checking to see if you’re paying attention).

Milwaukee’s starting pitcher, Don Sutton, also was later elected into the Hall.

Oh, the Brewers were also managed by the great Harvey Kuenn.

The experience, from watching batting practice and every pitch thrown, will be cherished forever.

I can only hope my son will someday feel the same about his first true Fenway experience.

On May 21, I drove my 4-year-old son, Will, to Fenway Park to see the Sox play the Cubs in an interleague game.

We took the MBTA subway’s blue line from the North Shore into Government Center, where we switched over to the ridicously crowded and dirty Green Line.

He was, naturally, equal parts mesmerized, curious and afraid. But he pulled through.

We reached Kenmore Square close to an hour before first pitch.

The timing was perfect, because it enabled him to soak in the atmosphere at the Fens.

“Daddy, is this Fenway?” he asked as we headed down Lansdowne Street.

“Yes, yes it is,” I answered.

He didn’t say anything (a first), but he didn’t have to because I had an inkling of what was trucking through his little, yet busy, mind.

In the interest of full disclosure, this wasn’t his first trip to Fenway, but it certainly will be the first he will remember. Will got up on the Green Monster for a Yankees game with his parents just a few months after he was born. He slept most of that game.

He didn’t sleep at all during our May trip to Fenway.

He took in the sights, sounds and smells of Fenway, much like I did as a youngster. And he devoured a hot dog, ice cream and Cracker Jacks along the way.

He bombarded me with questions, including, but not limited to, the following:

“Where is home plate?”

“Where is Wally?”

“Where are the clubhouses?”

“Who is that player?”

“Where are the Red Sox?”

“Can I go the bathroom (three times)?”

I don’t know what he’ll remember from that night, but I can only hope the experience will somehow, someway mirror the one I enjoyed nearly three decades ago.

And as we departed that night, I couldn’t help but think that as much as Fenway changed over the years — there was a screen above the Monster and you couldn’t get sushi inside the park in 1983 — a first-time experience never quite does.

Bill Stewart — 621-5640

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