Hidden Truth Stories
The Only One in the Rain

The Question I Stopped Asking

I used to think, somewhere underneath everything else, that there was a version of fatherhood that was real and a version that was a substitute, a good one, a generous one, but a substitute all the same, and that some part of me was still waiting to find out which kind I'd actually gotten.

Standing on that field in the rain, watching a soaked, exhausted forty-nine-year-old man cheer a losing strikeout like it was the most important thing that had happened to him all year, I understood, completely and for the last time, that I'd been asking the wrong question for eighteen years.

There wasn't a real version and a substitute version. There was just the version that showed up, two hundred and eleven times out of two hundred and fifteen, in every kind of weather, for a kid who didn't share a single strand of his DNA, because he'd decided, at twenty years old, in a diner, that showing up was the whole job description and biology was just a detail other people needed for their paperwork.

I walked off that field toward the stands instead of toward my own dugout, which earned me a confused look from my coach and no explanation I felt like giving him.

Continue the story Part 10: The Sign →