We began to walk, and as we made our way toward the exit for the parking lot, I was again aware how my broadcloth pants, white handmade cotton shirt, and suspenders were out of place. Even with my hat still tucked under my arm, I stood out like a stalk of corn in the middle of a hay field.
My father had said the airport was about a fifteen-minute drive from his new house, so I didn’t think he would mind if I asked to take a detour on the way to a used clothing store so that I could pick up a few things to help me blend in better. The last thing I needed was to draw attention to myself. I didn’t want to come off as an Amish man trying to fit into the non-Amish world. I just wanted to be a man, Amish or not.
“Say, Dad. Would you mind if we stopped somewhere so that I could get some jeans and a couple different shirts?”
“Sure, we can swing by the mall.” He smiled at me. “Liz already bought you a few new things, just like she used to when you were a kid. But we can still stop.”
“We don’t need to go to a mall. I’m fine with a used clothing—”
“No, no. New is better. And actually, now that I look at you, I’m thinking you and I are about the same size. You can probably wear most of my stuff too. I’ll pull out some things for you when we get home.”
We stepped outside the terminal and a brilliant sun greeted me. The icy Pennsylvania morning I had awakened to seemed ages ago under the seventy-two-degree sunshine here. Moments later we were in Dad’s car and pulling out into traffic.
While he drove, he filled me in on his civilian job, his life as an army retiree, Liz’s trip to Honduras, and her regular work as an RN at a local hospital.
I was interested in what he had to say but also intrigued with my surroundings, the sheer amount of cars on the roads, and how everyone drove with their windows closed even though the day was beautiful. When he began to talk about Brady, I forced myself to pay attention to everything he said. Brady was the reason I was here—or half the reason, at least.
“He’s been playing Pop Warner all these years, so we knew he was a shoe-in to play JV as a freshman. But we never dreamed he’d make regular varsity in ninth grade. He knocked the coach’s socks off when he tried out. He’s an amazing kicker. He can send that ball flying dead center through the uprights, on the worst snap ever, on the poorest placement ever, from practically midfield. I’m telling you, Ty, he’s headed for the Pac Twelve.”
“Pac Twelve?”
Dad seemed surprised I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Oh. That’s the conference name for all the great universities here in the West, you know, the Pacific side of the country. It’s all the big ones, Ty. The ones that matter. UCLA, USC, OSU, U of O. He has the talent to be picked up by one of them. That’s what I’m saying.”
He glanced at me as he drove to make sure I was getting all this.
“That’s why it’s so important that he not blow it right now. He’s on the varsity team, Ty,” he continued. “As a freshman.”
That part I got.
“I know what you’re saying, Dad. I just hadn’t heard of the Pac Twelve before.”
Dad seemed to need a moment to absorb this. Apparently, my lack of football expertise was something he hadn’t thought of when he called me with his desperate request. Now he was probably wondering if I realized how important this really was.
I did, of course. I knew what it meant to feel that something important to you was at stake. “You don’t want him to do something now that he will regret later, maybe for the rest of his life,” I said.
My father visibly relaxed as he returned his gaze to the road ahead. “Exactly. He has the talent. He could go all the way with it.”
“All the way?”
“The NFL, of course,” Dad laughed. Surely I knew that.
I was beginning to understand why, as my dad had said when he first called me, Brady was feeling the pressure of being in such a highly visible, high-stakes place as a freshman. Dad was probably doubling whatever pressure Brady was reacting to. No wonder there was tension between the two of them.
“But he’s fourteen. There are a lot of years between now and the NFL,” I said casually, as if it were something my dad could have said just as easily but feeling pretty sure he wouldn’t have.
“That’s my point, Tyler. These are the years that will decide how far he will go.”
“So how far does he want to go?”
“He loves playing football. He’s loved it since he was little. It’s always been what he’s wanted to do.” Dad tossed these sentences back to me a bit defensively, as if he’d said them before to someone else. I wondered if maybe he and Liz—or maybe even he and Brady—didn’t see eye to eye on Brady’s future as a football player.
I decided I would wait to see if my dad was right about that. Until I could talk to my brother, I wouldn’t know for sure, so for now I just said something I thought Dad would enjoy hearing but was still true.
“I’m looking forward to seeing him play.”
“He’s crazy good, Tyler. Phenomenal.”