Instead, he started writing about me.
Passed chemistry somehow – $50.
Scored a touchdown – $30.
Then one month: Proud of you, kid – $100.
I kept that one.
I kept the wooden box too.
My biological father did contact me again.
Not immediately.
And there was no car the next time.
But he never insulted Ray in front of me again.
Maybe he finally understood why.
The most expensive birthday present anyone had ever offered me disappeared down our street before dinner.
The wooden box is still mine.
For years, I’d believed fatherhood was something biology either gave a man or didn’t.
Ray taught me otherwise.
One man returned wanting me to see what he could give me.
The other had spent nearly two years giving when nobody was watching.
A pair of boots that could wait another month.
A football game where I never left the bench.
Chemistry homework he couldn’t understand.
