to the stadium to support him.
Ethan leaned toward Chris.
“Dad, don’t be weird.”
Chris managed a weak smile.
“I’m not weird.”
“You are sometimes.”
Then the announcer spoke again.
“Ethan told our wish-granting team that he wanted his hospital football league to share this special day.”
The crowd cheered.
“But he didn’t know his friends were planning to come here in person.”
Ethan covered his face, delighted and embarrassed.
Then the announcer continued.
“Ethan has one rule for his league.”
Ray raised an arm dramatically.
The announcer shouted,
“Everybody plays!”
Thousands of spectators applauded.
I instinctively raised my phone to capture Ethan’s reaction.
But this time, something stopped me.
My son wasn’t smiling at the camera.
He was watching me.
More specifically, he was watching the phone rising between our faces.
There was a sadness in his expression I hadn’t noticed before.
Slowly, I lowered the device.
