“I understand. Just ask him. And if he agrees, could you bring him an hour early? There’s something I’d like to give him, but I need to talk with him first.”
I went to Noah’s room. He was still awake.
“Your coach called. He has something special planned for tomorrow.”
Noah looked at his father’s photograph. “Will I have to take pictures with everyone?”
“Only if you want to.”
He was quiet a long moment. Then he touched his folded jersey. “Dad would have wanted me there, wouldn’t he?”
“I think he would.”
He looked down. “Okay, Mom. I’ll try.”
The next morning he put on his jersey without a word. We drove mostly in silence. At the stadium the stands were nearly empty, and the coach met us outside the locker room.
“Noah,” he said gently, “we’d like to remember your dad during the ceremony. Would that be okay?”
“Will everyone be looking at me?”
“Some people might. You can say no. Nobody will mind.”
After a moment Noah nodded. “Okay.”
The coach opened the locker room door. A single jersey hung from a hook. Blue, with white numbers, and across the back: PAUL.
Noah stopped walking. “That’s Dad’s name.”
The coach lifted it down. “Your father once told me he’d never had a jersey of his own.” I swallowed. “I thought it was time he did.”
Noah ran a finger across the letters. For a moment he pressed the fabric to his face. “Can I keep it?”
“It’s yours.”
The coach quietly asked me to step outside. “There’s something else I’d like to include in the tribute. Do I have your permission?”
“Will it upset him?”
“It might be emotional. But I think he’ll treasure it.”
I glanced at Noah through the doorway, then nodded. “All right.”
When I returned, Noah was still holding the jersey. I thought I understood what the coach had arranged. I was wrong.
When the ceremony began, the team lined up near the field. Parents filled the lower stands. A photographer waited beside the awards table. Then the stadium screen went black, and a familiar voice filled the air.
“Okay, Noah. Try again.”
My breath caught. On the screen a tiny boy in oversized cleats chased a football across our backyard, and Paul ran after him, laughing. Six-year-old Noah. I remembered filming that afternoon.
