I was at my desk when he walked in.
He had something behind his back. He told me to pick a hand, which is something we’ve done forever — the other person always swaps the item to the other hand at the last second, holds it out, says “oh well.” I stopped what I was doing and turned toward him in my chair.
I knew what this was.
A few weeks earlier he had told me he had an idea for Father’s Day. I didn’t push for details, just told him I was excited. Then he told me he had found something and was going to order it. He did the research himself, found the right one, placed the order, entered his card information and shipping address. Before he confirmed it he checked with my goddaughter, who gave him the green light. When the package arrived he took it to his room to look it over.
He had saved his allowance for this. He cleaned out the car for a little extra. He called his grandma and she chipped in. He put all of it together, did all of it himself, and then waited.
Back in the office, I picked a hand. Wrong one. He grinned and swapped it to the other. I picked again and he handed it over with a huge smile.
It was a Steven Stamkos hoodie. Tampa Bay Lightning. Number 91. Stamkos has been on Nashville for a few years now, traded away from the team I’ve followed my whole life, but he was the first player my son really remembered as my favorite. When there’s a Nashville game on, we’ll tune in and check on him. We still cheer for Stamkos.
He knew exactly what he was picking.
He couldn’t hold onto it anymore, he told me later. He had been going to burst. That’s why he gave it to me before he left for Arizona — he couldn’t wait another three weeks for Father’s Day to actually arrive.
I made a big deal of it. How soft it was. How thoughtful.
On Father’s Day I wore it on our FaceTime call. His face lit up when he saw it. He was so happy, so proud of himself. I told him again how much I loved it, how much it meant. He soaked it in.
He’s been doing more things like this lately. Figuring out how to make something happen, doing the steps, seeing it through. Not asking me to do it for him. Not asking for money and handing off the rest. All of it, start to finish, himself.
I don’t want to make too much of a hoodie. But it wasn’t really about the hoodie.
It was a kid who had an idea and saw it through. Who saved up and asked for help in the right places and checked before he ordered and waited for the package and held onto the secret as long as he could and then walked into my office and told me to pick a hand.
He’s becoming someone who does things like that.
I’m paying attention.