Sometimes, when I’m alone enough, I stare into the mirror, reaching for the markings behind my eyes.
I see World Series games and buckets of beer, diving catches, and slow rollers that make it through a drawn infield.
I see Dad wearing Grandpa’s old fishing flannel and the warmth we both felt raking leaves. It was an annual rite of passage, and the smell of those leaves burning and the tight spiral of a football he threw as I ran across the freshly raked grass after the work was done.
I see me and Mom cuddled on the couch, sharing one spoon and a pint of ice cream, watching Guiding Light, and me talking, talking, talking when it was just us two living in the apartments on Burdick Street.
It’s parenting in and out of endless days and how taking that first step was a commitment, but going all the way is a promise. A promise I recommit to every waking morning.
I know these things by heart.
