Then the whole top section.
It went down the bleachers like water running down a hill. Row after row after row. Until the entire home side of that gym was on its feet.
Old men who’d hauled milk with my father stood up. Women from his church circle stood up. Little kids who had no idea who he was stood up because everybody else was standing.
And then the girls on the visiting team, in their white jerseys over on the far sideline, started clapping.
And then their parents, on the other side of the gym, stood up too.
I had both hands over my mouth.
I didn’t decide to put them there. They just went there. And stayed. And I could feel my face getting wet against my palms.
My father didn’t look up at any of it.
He kept his eyes on the floor in front of his cane. The same way he always watched his footing in the barn.
