Page 72 of Stolen Holidays
I’d like to say he’s getting soft in his old age, but my dad has always been a softy at heart. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet. He’s warm and generous, and he loves his family with every cell in his body. He’s a fierce lion protecting his pride. He also worships the ground my mom walks on.
He’s my hero.
I lucked out in the dad department. Especially during my teenage years. Boy, that was a rough time for all of us. I accidentally found a black box in my parents’ closet while I was playing hide and seek with my siblings. Something about it felt familiar, so I opened it and read some letters I probably shouldn’t have. They shook me to my core and had me questioning everything.
I had always adored my dad, Sam, but after learning the truth of what he did, I was so damn angry with him. Furious. I felt robbed and betrayed. That anger consumed me, and I used it to lash out at my parents. Got into a bit of trouble at school and let my grades slip.
Fed up with my attitude, my dad took me away on a guys-only camping trip, just the two of us. He sat me down and waited. He didn’t utter a word for two days. He just sat there patiently, waiting for me to break.
And I did. I crashed out hard. I yelled and cursed him and Mom out. Cursed Sam out. I cried. You name it. I experienced every emotion until I had nothing left to feel.
After I had it out, he told me his side of the story. He let me know he felt exactly the way I felt. Cheated. When he found out the truth, he also took his anger out on my mom, and because of it, he almost lost her.
We stayed up all night talking, and Dad helped me see that hanging onto all that hate and anger was toxic. Dad said that, knowingMom and I were loved and cared for during our separation, he found it easier to forgive Sam. Then Dad gave me the letter he had received from Sam after he passed. Like it did for him, the letter helped me understand the actions of a desperate man whose days were numbered.
My dad is my rock. He stayed by my side and held me as I reconciled my memories of Sam and the truth. In the end, I learned both things can be true: Sam did a bad thing, but he was still my dad. Things didn’t change overnight, but I eventually made peace with everything. I made it through to the other side. Went to therapy. Channeled that anger into baseball and music.
Now here I am. About to play my first game in the MLB. All because I have the best dad on the planet. Don’t tell my mom this, but she’s right. Jace Miller is an ace.
“Thanks, Dad. For helping me get here.”
He waves his hand. “You did all the work, kiddo. You ready to get out there and show them what you’ve got?”
“More than ready.” I slap my glove and grin.
“Know you are. Love you, Rhys.”
“Love you, Pop. Tell Ma I love her too.”
He looks over his shoulder at my mom and smiles. You can practically see the hearts in his eyes as he stares at her. Someday, when the timing is right, I’ll find what they have. In the meantime, my focus is on the game. And I fucking love baseball. The thrill, the camaraderie, the traveling. Winning.
All of it.
“She knows, son.”
My nose stings with emotion as my eyes find my mom’s. The crazy-beautiful, big-hearted woman is wearing a DIY T-shirt that reads:Rhys Miller’s Mom. She wipes away the tears from under her eyes and mouths,I love you, to me. My chest tightens, making it a little harder to breathe. With my finger, I swipe an X over my heart and point at her. Our secret “I love you” signal.
“Let’s go, Miller,” my catcher, Smith, smacks me in the ass with his glove. “Time to show these people what the rookie’s got.”
My eyes find Dad’s, and he winks at me. “Go get ’em, Rhys.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” I say with that cocky Miller edge and tip of my hat.
I make my way to the mound and fall into my stance. Shutting the sounds of the stadium out, I focus on the glove waiting 726 inches away from me and let it rip.
Game on.
