And then Hayes’s mother appeared.
She carried the old lunchbox.
The announcer told the stadium it represented where Hayes’s career had begun: cheap lunches from his mother and years when nobody knew his name.
Caleb stared at it.
A few minutes after the ceremony ended, a stadium employee approached us.
“Excuse me. Are you Caleb?”
Caleb blinked.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Hayes would like to meet you.”
After the game, we were taken to a small area near the tunnel.
Hayes’s mother was waiting.
Then Hayes walked in.
Caleb, who had spent four quarters confidently explaining professional football to me, forgot how speech worked.
Hayes crouched slightly so he wasn’t towering over him.
“Caleb?”
My son nodded.
“My mom told me about you, about what you did for that kid.”
Caleb immediately looked embarrassed.
“I just saw him in the road.”
“And you went after him.”
Caleb shrugged slightly, as if there hadn’t been another choice.
