I crunch cereal, try to finish my math homework.
I don’t mind doing homework, but lately,
it’s been hard.
My mom was usually the one to sit with me
in case I had any questions.
But now I do it on my own.
Tonight’s the night.
Dad sounds like a game show announcer.
Game 1, Giants at Cubs!
Wrigley Field is far away,
but don’t worry, it’s available right here.
He waves his arm around the room, fluffs a pillow.
Dad, I say, I promised Malia
I would help her practice for the talent show.
He looks at me. Listen, that’s fine.
He puts his rough hands on both my shoulders.
I’ll tell your grandfather,
but you need to be home on time.
Ride your bike from now on,
and …
He looks at me, reaches into his back pocket.
Don’t tell your grandfather yet,
it’s on the Sabbath, and I don’t want an argument,
but my boss gave us tickets to Game 4!
Saturday at Candlestick!
I drop my book, stand up,
hug my dad.
He sings, “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,”
shoves breakfast bowls into the sink.
And then I remember something.
I pull the river picture from the notebook,
take an envelope from the drawer,
fold the picture
and put it inside.
Slowly I write out
the address on the refrigerator,
and I draw a heart in the corner.
Mail this to Mom?