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From somewhere far-off, I heard my brother shout, “Hey, See!”
“Sounds good. Tell my brother hi back.”
“I will. Kiss the kids for us, okay? And remind them we’ll see them tomorrow. You’ve got all the info on which entrance to use, so you don’t have to fight the crowds?”
“Yep, no worries, we’re covered.”
“Oh, and don’t forget their ear protection for the concert. I should have packed the noise-canceling muffs in their bags. I didn’t forget, did I? The red ones are Abigail’s, the—”
“Andi,” I interrupted her. “It’s fine, I have them right here. We’re all set. Don’t worry, Grey and I have it all under control. Okay?”
“Okay,” she mumbled. “Do I sound just a little overprotective?”
“You sound like a mom,” I laughed. “Now, go hang out with your husband. The girls and us will see you tomorrow.”
2
GREY
"In your face, Stone!”
My daughter Kendall whooped with glee as her brother Wyatt failed to make a three-pointer from the end of the driveaway — the same shot that Kendall had just nailed moments ago. “That’s HORSE, you’re out, Wyatt!” she shouted. “Now it’s just me and Dad!”
“Ugh, fine,” Wyatt muttered, tossing the ball away. “You beat me. I’m done.”
My kids and I were taking advantage of this unseasonably mild December day to shoot some hoops before dinner. From the sidelines, the twins’ cousins Abigail and Chloe clapped and did some weird cheerleader-like dance, using their mittens as makeshift pompoms.
“You can play the loser when this game is done, Wyatt,” Kendall teased her brother, making an L with her fingers against her forehead.
“Nah, I’m gonna go hang out in my room until dinner.” Wyatt grimaced. “Dad, you need to avenge me.”
“I’ll do my best,” I told him.
Wyatt loped off into the house, the screen door slamming behind him. A few seconds later, the familiar muffled strums of an electric guitar carried through his closed bedroom window.
As I stood in the center of the driveway contemplating my next shot, I couldn’t help admiring the way Wyatt just took the loss to his sister in stride. One thing Seton had always stressed when the kids were little was that ability sports, or any hobby, had nothing to do with being a boy or a girl. She wanted to make sure that Kendall never felt at a disadvantage for being a female — but she also wanted to make sure that Wyatt never grew up thinking girls were less than, or that it was some sort of assault to his masculinity if a girl bested him in something.
Even though they were pretty evenly matched in basketball talent, Wyatt was much less competitive than Kendall when it came to sports. Kendal was athletic and physical, a tornado of a girl since she learned to walk. She ran track in middle school, and was planning to try out for the basketball team next year. Wyatt, on the other hand, was physically gifted as well, but he was quieter and more introspective. His passion lay in music, more so than in sports. We had gotten him a guitar last year, and ever since then Wyatt spent hours each day teaching himself to play. Wyatt went deep on whatever he was interested in — he had that in common with his sister — and he was a damn good player already. His Aunt Andi had told him more than once that he had what it took to be a seriously good musician. That was high praise, coming from one of the best-known names in music. Andi’s encouragement spurred Wyatt on to work even harder at developing his skill on the instrument.
I watched Kendall now as she tossed me the ball, wondering not for the first time how my two twin children could be so alike but so different. Wyatt had my wife Seton’s light hair, but my strong brow and chin. Kendall, on the other hand, had my dark coloring but See’s features. They were both tall like me, though. At only eleven years old, they were on the verge of being as tall as their mom.
“Comeon, Dad! Shoot the ball!” Kendall complained impatiently, interrupting my thoughts.
“All right, all right.” I dribbled a couple of times, trotted toward the basket, and dida reverse layup that went right in. My height gave me an advantage on this one. A year ago, Kendall wouldn’t have been able to make it. Today, though, she grabbed the ball, took a few steps back, and tossed it up.
“Easy,” she announced as it fell through the hoop.
I made a big production of groaning. “You’re getting too good at this.”
“I’m just coming into my prime, Dad. I’m young and feisty. You’re trying to hang on to your fleeting youth.”
“Oh, so we’re trash talking now, are we?” I shot back.
She spread her arms wide and grinned. “I’m just stating the facts, old man.”
“Old, huh? So does that mean I’m too old to hang out with?” I clutched my heart like she had just shot an arrow through it. But even though I knew we were just joking around, I still got a twinge at the thought. I knew that pretty soon Kendall and Wyatt wouldn’t want to spend time with their lame-ass parents, much less be seen in public with us. I’d gotten used to Kendall being attached to me like a little shadow since the moment she could walk. I couldn’t imagine her wanting to spend more time trying on makeup with her friends than hanging out in the garage or shooting hoops with me.
But like Seton often said to me, our job as parents was to give our kids roots and wings. I knew I’d need to let go when the time came. Hopefully, Wyatt and Kendall would still come to shoot hoops with their old man from time to time when they were adults and off on their own.
