opposing counsel.”
“I do.”
“So?”
“Nothing. I got your point.”
“But you don’t agree with it.”
“I don’t really want to get into it.”
“But the data is pretty clear.”
“Right.”
“So what’s your issue?”
Adam hesitated and then figured, why not. “It’s just a game, Cal. Home-field advantage is part of it. It’s why we play half of the games home, half away. So it balances out. In my view—and hey, it’s only mine—you’re justifying bad behavior. Let it just play out, bad calls and all. It’s a better example to the boys than screaming at referees. And if we lose an extra game or two a year, which I doubt, it’s a small price to pay for decorum and dignity, don’t you think?”
Cal Gottesman started working up his counter when Thomas came out of the locker room. Adam held up a hand and said, “No big deal, Cal, just my take. Excuse me, okay?”
Adam hurried back to the car and watched his son cross the field. There is a definite walk when you feel good about a win. Thomas stood more upright, a bounce in his step. There was a hint of a smile on his face. Thomas didn’t want to let that joy out, Adam knew, until he was in the car. He waved to a few friends, ever the politician. Ryan was on the quiet side, but Thomas could be mayor of this town.
Thomas threw his lacrosse bag into the backseat. The stink from the much-sweated-in pads began their assault. Adam slid open the windows. That did some good, but after a game in the warm weather, it was never enough.
Thomas waited for them to get about a block away before allowing his face to light up. “Did you see that first goal?”
Adam grinned. “Sick.”
“Yeah. Only my second goal using my left.”
“It was a nice move. The game winner was sweet too.”
They went on like this for quite some time. Some might think it was being boastful. It was actually the opposite. With his teammates and coaches, Thomas was modest and generous. He always gave credit to someone else—the guy who made the pass, the kid who made the steal—and grew shy and embarrassed whenever he was made the center of attention on an athletic field.
But alone with his family, Thomas felt comfortable cutting loose. He loved to go into details about the game, not just about his goals but about the entirety of play, what the other kids said, who had played well, who hadn’t. Home was a secure haven for that—a familial cone of honesty, if you will. Corny as it sounded, that was what family should be. He didn’t have to worry about sounding like a braggart or a phony or any of that. He just spoke freely.
“He’s home!” Corinne shouted as Thomas walked through the door. He shrugged his lax bag off his shoulder and left it in the mudroom. Thomas let his mother hug him.
“Great game, honey.”
“Thanks.”
Ryan offered his brother a fist bump of congratulations.
“What’s for dinner?” Thomas asked.
“I got one of those marinated skirt steaks on the grill.”
“Oh yeah.”
The steaks were Thomas’s favorite. Not wanting to break the mood, Adam dutifully gave his wife a kiss. They all washed up. Ryan set the table, which meant that Thomas would have to clear it. There was water for everyone. Corinne had poured two glasses of wine for the adults. She laid out the food on the kitchen island. Everyone grabbed plates and served themselves.
It was a strikingly ordinary albeit cherished family dinner, and yet it felt to Adam as though there were a ticking bomb under their table. It was only a matter of time now. The dinner would end and the boys would do their homework or watch TV or mess around on the computer or play a video game. Would he wait until Thomas and Ryan went to bed? Probably. Except that over the past year or two, he or Corinne would fall asleep before Thomas. So he’d have to get Thomas in his room with the door closed before he could confront his wife with what he had learned.
Tick, tick, tick . . .
For most of the
“I do.”
“So?”
“Nothing. I got your point.”
“But you don’t agree with it.”
“I don’t really want to get into it.”
“But the data is pretty clear.”
“Right.”
“So what’s your issue?”
Adam hesitated and then figured, why not. “It’s just a game, Cal. Home-field advantage is part of it. It’s why we play half of the games home, half away. So it balances out. In my view—and hey, it’s only mine—you’re justifying bad behavior. Let it just play out, bad calls and all. It’s a better example to the boys than screaming at referees. And if we lose an extra game or two a year, which I doubt, it’s a small price to pay for decorum and dignity, don’t you think?”
Cal Gottesman started working up his counter when Thomas came out of the locker room. Adam held up a hand and said, “No big deal, Cal, just my take. Excuse me, okay?”
Adam hurried back to the car and watched his son cross the field. There is a definite walk when you feel good about a win. Thomas stood more upright, a bounce in his step. There was a hint of a smile on his face. Thomas didn’t want to let that joy out, Adam knew, until he was in the car. He waved to a few friends, ever the politician. Ryan was on the quiet side, but Thomas could be mayor of this town.
Thomas threw his lacrosse bag into the backseat. The stink from the much-sweated-in pads began their assault. Adam slid open the windows. That did some good, but after a game in the warm weather, it was never enough.
Thomas waited for them to get about a block away before allowing his face to light up. “Did you see that first goal?”
Adam grinned. “Sick.”
“Yeah. Only my second goal using my left.”
“It was a nice move. The game winner was sweet too.”
They went on like this for quite some time. Some might think it was being boastful. It was actually the opposite. With his teammates and coaches, Thomas was modest and generous. He always gave credit to someone else—the guy who made the pass, the kid who made the steal—and grew shy and embarrassed whenever he was made the center of attention on an athletic field.
But alone with his family, Thomas felt comfortable cutting loose. He loved to go into details about the game, not just about his goals but about the entirety of play, what the other kids said, who had played well, who hadn’t. Home was a secure haven for that—a familial cone of honesty, if you will. Corny as it sounded, that was what family should be. He didn’t have to worry about sounding like a braggart or a phony or any of that. He just spoke freely.
“He’s home!” Corinne shouted as Thomas walked through the door. He shrugged his lax bag off his shoulder and left it in the mudroom. Thomas let his mother hug him.
“Great game, honey.”
“Thanks.”
Ryan offered his brother a fist bump of congratulations.
“What’s for dinner?” Thomas asked.
“I got one of those marinated skirt steaks on the grill.”
“Oh yeah.”
The steaks were Thomas’s favorite. Not wanting to break the mood, Adam dutifully gave his wife a kiss. They all washed up. Ryan set the table, which meant that Thomas would have to clear it. There was water for everyone. Corinne had poured two glasses of wine for the adults. She laid out the food on the kitchen island. Everyone grabbed plates and served themselves.
It was a strikingly ordinary albeit cherished family dinner, and yet it felt to Adam as though there were a ticking bomb under their table. It was only a matter of time now. The dinner would end and the boys would do their homework or watch TV or mess around on the computer or play a video game. Would he wait until Thomas and Ryan went to bed? Probably. Except that over the past year or two, he or Corinne would fall asleep before Thomas. So he’d have to get Thomas in his room with the door closed before he could confront his wife with what he had learned.
Tick, tick, tick . . .
For most of the
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