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Seeingmy boy running around the park, without a care in the world, loosens something inside. He’s got such a pure, gentle heart, which guts me when I realize his own mother didn’t want him. I don’t understand why, either. I mean, even though I ended up having to retire from playing pro football, I made enough while still an active player to lead a good, financially stable life. The only reason I took a coaching job at my old high school was because there was no way I could sit on my ass the rest of my life while doing nothing. No more, and no less. Well, health insurance, too, of course, because I had to make sure I could get Dusty seen by his physician if he got sick. It’s also one of the reasons I changed my career path from what I had planned to do; become a paramedic. Working as a teacher and coach gives me the ability to be with my son at night, whereas, if I had gone into that field, I’d work day-long shifts. I wasn’t willing to miss that much of his life, so pushed that dream to the back of my mind, and focused on being the best dad and teacher possible instead.
We’ve already tossed the ball around, and now, I’m sitting on the bench as he burns off more energy. Even with the medicine he takes to help him focus, he’s still like a live wire most of the time. I figure age and maturity will tame that a little bit, and as long as he knows how to treat other people, I don’t care if he jabbers a mile a minute in my ear.
“You ready to order some pizza and wings?” I call out.
He stops what he was doing, and jogs over to me. “Yeah. Can we get some ice cream for sundaes after the game?”
“Why else do you think we have the chest freezer?” I tease.
“For the meals Aunt Cissy makes for us during football season,” he retorts, grinning at me.
“And for ice cream. You gonna want me to get root beer?”
He plops down next to me, and looks over my shoulder at the grocery list.
“Yes, please. Can we get some beef jerky too? And I need more deodorant, can’t be smelling funky around the girls.”
“What girls?”
He grins at me, the freckles across the bridge of his nose the only thing different from me. “Dad,” he says, drawing out my name until it’s more than a single syllable. “Girls, Dad. They think I’m hot.”
“You’re too young to be hot. Maybe, just maybe, you’re lukewarm,” I tease.
“Well, eventually lukewarm turns to hot, so there,” he sasses.
Damn, I love this kid.
“Okay, let’s head to the grocery store and stock up. I’ll call for the pizza and wings when we’re almost done, so it’ll still be nice and hot by the time we get home.”
“Race ya!” he yells, jumping up from the bench toward my truck.
“I’ll let you have this one,” I call out. My knee’s been giving me fits, and I don’t want to spend the rest of the weekend doped up when he’s out of school. I’ll ice it once we’re home, and take something for the swelling before bed. Maybe it's time to dig out my brace, since I’ve been spending a lot of time on the field, showing my players various moves.
* * *
“Okay,showers are done, let’s settle in and watch some football,” I decree, grabbing the pizza and wings in one hand. I’ve kept them warm in the oven while we both showered off the dust from and sweat from the park, and got dressed in more comfortable attire. “You grab the drinks, paper plates, and napkins.”
“Got them,” Dusty replies.
“Two games today, think we’ll do it? It’s going to be a late night,” I caution as we get situated in the family room.
My huge television is one of the few excesses I splurged on when I retired from playing, and I’m not even a little bit sorry. I reach into the pizza box, grab two slices, then add four wings before I sit back, and start eating while listening to the commentators announce their picks.
“Do you think you’ll stay single forever, Dad?” Dusty asks around a mouthful of pizza.
“What?” Where the hell is this coming from?
“Well, I mean, you’re still young, you could get married again, you know?” he casually replies, sucking down some of his root beer. I’m sure there’s a professional out there somewhere who would cringe if they saw our normal weekend fare which typically doesn’t include vegetables, but for the most part, we eat relatively healthy, a byproduct of my years in the pros. But when it’s time for a game, we eat pizza and wings. Sometimes, barbecue. But unless there are pickles involved with the sandwiches, no veggies are in sight.
“Maybe, I don’t know. I mean, I need to find someone who can put up with not only me, but my lukewarm son, after all,” I tease.
“Dad, in a few years I’ll be off to college, then probably moving out on my own. Are you saying you’d be okay living here all by yourself?”
A memory of Sunday from the night before flashes through my mind.
“First of all, you’re going on eleven, not eighteen, so I’ve got a good seven years or so before you head off into the wild world,” I reply. “Second, like I said, I’ve not really dated all that much, so if you’re hoping this is something that’s going to occur next week, sad to say, but you’re out of luck, son.”
“How can you meet anyone though if we’re always together?”
