My mother's family were Monterrey Sultanes fanaticos and when my Dad met my Mom, he followed them too. My Dad was had dual citizenship and when he married my mother, he brought her to America. My Dad loved Mickey Mantle (my brother is named after my Dad's middle name and nickname: Mickey) and by proxy the Yankees. When my Dad decided he should move his family from San Antonio (where Mickey, two of my sisters and I were born, my oldest sister was born in Monterrey, NL), he couldn't decide between Santa Fe, New Mexico or Houston, Texas. He decided on Santa Fe, but he moved us there when we were all toddlers and babies in the dead of winter. That's all it took for my Dad to decide maybe Houston was a better choice.
When we got to Houston, my Dad casually followed the Houston Buffs, never really developing a love for that team. By the time Mickey and I were playing LL and very interested in baseball, along came the Colt 45s. That did it. My dad loved the team, but we never really followed them until they moved into the Astrodome in 1964. We never missed a game after that in terms of following them as "our team". My fondest memories is the block parties in second ward, when food, bragging, music, dominoes, checkers and Lowell Passe ("now you're chunking in there kid!") were all part of the festivities. Someone would always have a small transistor with the game on. Lemonade, porches, Gene Elston... all part of my upbringing. Going to the Astrodome and sitting in the right field pavillion was about making the "journey" to a great place for family fun and time with my Dad.