Page 36 of A Game as Old as Time

“What…?” He was sniffling uncontrollably.

“Baby, I loved your father so much. He meant the world to me. But…” She pulled Peyton toward them, trying to calm her as well. “But your father was not perfect.”

Yes, he was.

Gunner was starting to regain his composure, and he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

“Everyone around town thinks he was.”

His mother gave him a soft smile and patted his head.

“Well, your father would have given anyone in this town the shirt off his back if he could. That was what made him wonderful.” She glanced down at Peyton and stroked her hair. “But your father made mistakes. Mistakes with me, mistakes with you. That’s what made him human.”

Dad was human.

Gunner pushed back against the cabinet for more stability.

“Your father loved football. He put his life into it, but at times he hated that he was considered only a football coach. He wanted to be remembered not just as a football coach but as someone who helped build young men.”

He felt more in control of himself as he slid a bit closer.

“But most importantly, he wanted to be remembered as a good man…and a good father.”

He was a great father.

“He would spend hours at that school, trying to change things that he felt were broken. He would go meet with business owners and community leaders. I just…” His mother shook her head and lowered her eyes. “I just wish he could have told you both how he really felt. How much he loved you, how proud he was of you both.”

Gunner grabbed his mother’s hand.

She is so strong.

“Sweetheart.” She shifted back to him and smiled. “Stop trying to be perfect. Stop trying to be your father.” He squeezed her hand as she leaned toward him. “Your father was so proud of the young man you are becoming. How you are growing up, maturing. He would want you to be you, Gunner Weston.”

But who is Gunner Weston?

He could feel more tears forming in his eyes.

“Because that is who you are. You are a wonderful young man. A caring brother, the best son a mother could ask for, and yes---” She squeezed his hand now. “The son of Daniel Weston.”

He swallowed hard. His legs had stopped shaking.

“This town, Gunner…” She peered up at the flyer on the refrigerator. “This town is lost. They are confused; they are still trying to heal.” Gunner sat still, his hands intertwined with his mother’s. “Just like you.” She smiled again.

She is so much stronger than me.

“This whole scoreboard thing---if you don’t want to go, don’t go,” she said. Gunner stood up shakily, his eyes falling on the broken saltshaker across the room. “Your father would have hated it anyway.”

Gunner chuckled, but it came out like a sob. His father always told the team to ignore the scoreboard, and now they wanted to put his name on one.

“Your father started that fundraiser to support all the after-school activities.” He grabbed the broom and began to sweep up the salt andpieces of glass as his mother continued. “He believed that it was important for students to be well-rounded. Not just to play a sport but to do other things. To be remembered for more than just football.”

Gunner took a deep breath as both Peyton and his mother moved to the table.

“That’s why he wanted me on stage crew?”

“Your father loved theatre, believe it or not. Something else you probably never knew about him.”

What?

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