Before The Ever After

Once, when I was a little kid,
this newscaster guy asked me if
my dad was my biggest hero.
No, I said. My dad’s just my dad.

There was a crowd of newscasters circling around me, all of them with their microphones aimed at my face. Maybe I was nervous, I don’t remember now.

Maybe it was after his first Super Bowl win, his ring new and shining on his finger. Me just a little kid, so the ring was this whole glittering world, gold and black and diamonds against my daddy’s brown hand.

I remember hearing the reporter say
Listen to those fans! Looks like everybody’s
found their next great hero.

And now I’m thinking back to those times
when the cold wind whipped around me and Mom as we sat wrapped in blankets, yelling Dad’s name, so close to the game, we could see the angry spit spraying from the other team’s coach’s lips. So close, we could see the sweat on my daddy’s neck.

And all the people around us cheering,
all the people going around calling out his number, calling out his name.

Zachariah 44! Zachariah 44!

Is your daddy your hero? the newscaster had asked me.

And all these years later, just like that day, I know he’s not my hero,
he’s my dad, which means
he’s my every single thing.