Page 120 of The Problem with Players

And so I did.

34

NATHAN

For the next few days, thunderstorms rolled through Honey Creek. After a Saturday practice, I ran out to my car to avoid getting drenched in the rain. I hopped into my vehicle quickly and put the car into drive. The rain was coming down hard, making me take the roads a little slower than normal. As I was driving, I noticed a boy walking on the side of the road with a duffel bag over his head.

The closer I grew, the faster I realized it was one of my guys. I pulled the car over to the curb, rolled down my window, and shouted, “Cameron. What are you doing?!”

He turned toward me, soaked head to toe, and shook some water away from his blond hair. “Hey, Coach P. My dad forgot to pick me up. I was just walking home.”

I put my car in park, leaned over to the passenger door, and swung it open. “Get in.”

He hurried over and hopped inside, dropping his duffel bag into his lap as he slammed the door shut. I rolled the window up for him as he buckled his seat belt. “Thanks, Coach P.”

“No problem.”

“Normally, when he forgets to get me, it’s not raining that bad, so the walk doesn’t suck so much.”

“Does he forget you a lot?”

Cameron went quiet for a second before shrugging. “He’s had a lot on his plate since my mom passed away last year.”

“Oh…I had no clue, Cameron. I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It sucks.” He cleared his throat and raked a hand through his wet hair. “I’m good, though. Not a big deal. I live about ten minutes from here. I’m on the outside of town.” He gave me his address, and I plugged it into my GPS.

“I’ve seen your dad at the games,” I mentioned. “He shows up to all of them.”

Cameron huffed. “If you consider that showing up.”

I tried to push out a smile, but reality wouldn’t allow it. Cameron’s father was a drunk. He was always the loudest one in the stands, shouting out rude commentary toward his son whenever he was up to bat. He had a lot of damn nerve acting the way he had in public. It wasn’t shocking that Cameron had stage fright when it came to the game when the person who was supposed to be his biggest cheerleader was his biggest villain in the stands.

“My dad used to heavily drink, too, you know. He’d show up to my baseball games and embarrass the living shit out of me.”

“Yeah? How did you deal with it?”

“Tried my best to ignore it. Focused on the game in front of me and not on my wasted, unstable parent.”

“Did he ever get himself together?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Unfortunately, he passed away from alcoholism. The drinks finally caught up to him. He didn’t even get to see me play in my first big league game. Even though he was the reason I got into baseball.”

“Yeah? My dad is why I play, too. When I was younger, it was the one thing we connected to each other with.”

“Same with me and my dad. I was his oldest, and he tried tomake me into his puppet. I had no problem with it, though, because I thought my father was the coolest person in the world. When he was sober, at least. When our family farm started to go to shit, he put a lot more pressure on me to perform better, to get the big contract to help take care of my family.”

“I get that kind of pressure, too.”

“Yeah. I figured.” I glanced over at him before looking back at the road. “Can I give you some advice I wish someone would’ve given me when I was your age?”

“Sure.”

“It’s not your responsibility to parent your parents. It’s your job to be a kid as long as possible.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Unfortunately, I know that, too.”

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