Landon peered over his father’s shoulder. They were back at his desk, with the spoons rinsed and tucked away in the dishwasher. His father typed and then clicked, bringing up the website for Xenith Helmets, a company that made specialty sports helmets of every kind. They got to the football section and his father scanned the material quickly, his lips moving fast and silently, before he tapped the screen and leaned back.
“It’s ingenious, really,” he said. “There’s a diaphragm in the lining, like a couple of mini beach rafts you can inflate. It says you can play football with the processors right behind your ears. I thought you’d have to take them out for sure, like you do for swimming.”
Landon nodded because he already knew all this, but he didn’t want to dampen his father’s excitement. “That’s awesome.”
“Let’s see . . .” His father tilted his head back for a better look. “We measure your head . . .”
“I can get the tape measure from the garage.” Landon was already up and going. When he returned he was thrilled to see that his father had most of the order form already filled out. They wrapped the tape around Landon’s head.
“Twenty-four,” his father said. “I’m a twenty-nine. You believe that? Here, let me show you.”
Landon’s father wrapped the metal tape around his own head as proof, chuckling before he turned his attention back to the screen. “You know, I believe in this whole team thing. I mean, a marching band is like a team. An orchestra? How about that for working together, right? And those things . . .” Landon’s father sat back in his chair and got a faraway look. “Those things are what I remember most. You’re part of something.”
Landon’s dad looked at him and Landon let their eyes stay connected over the empty space. It wasn’t something he and his father did very much, just look at each other, but it was as if this moment was one they’d both remember, and for some reason it didn’t feel weird. His dad had dark brown eyes and a big forehead. His nose was slightly flattened and his mouth a bit too small for everything else. Looking at him, Landon felt like he was looking into a mirror, seeing himself in the future.
“There’s real team spirit,” his father said. “I want you to have that.” Landon’s dad turned back to the iMac and moved through to the purchase screen. He clicked the rush delivery icon, but the earliest delivery for the helmet and skullcap was Saturday, a few days after the start of Landon’s football career.
“Monday we’ll get you football shoes—cleats,” his dad said. They slapped a high five.
Neither of them had seen his mother creep up on them, so it startled them both when she barked, “What’s going on here?”