“I think he just wants to be seen,” I told the coach. “His father just left and I know he feels like he is being left behind.”
I practiced my speech as I headed toward my son’s soccer practice. I actually wondered if he would let Tyler back on the team or not, Tyler had been late to practice several times in the wake of his father disappearing out of our lives and was on the verge of being kicked off the team. Soccer, recently, was the only thing that had kept him together.
I had just found out the night before that Tyler had had several outbursts at practice and had given another boy a black eye right after he had cussed him out. I had never even heard my son say shit and he was apparently fluent in all kinds of words I had never used in my life. We didn’t have cable TV so I figured he must be watching different shows on his computer.
When I finally got to the field, I summoned the courage to get out of the car knowing this was the best chance I had for my son. As I walked toward the soccer field, I saw Tyler walking told me with a man who had his arm around his shoulders. It took me a minute so realize it was my husband. My husband who was presumed dead six months ago.