At me. Recognition flickered, followed by something softer, sadder, as he saw the embarrassment I hadn’t managed to hide. That hurt him more than the fall ever could.
PART 2
The noise didn’t stop all at once, but it thinned, laughter fraying into scattered chuckles as my dad slowly pushed himself upright with deliberate control, refusing to rush, refusing to give the moment any more chaos than it had already claimed. A cafeteria worker hurried over with napkins and a worried expression, but he gave her a small, steady smile and a nod that said he was fine, even if the tightness around his eyes told another story. He didn’t snap, didn’t glare, didn’t demand apologies from a room full of teenagers who had already decided he was a joke.
Tyler, still riding the attention, leaned back in his chair with a grin sharpened by an audience. “You good there, sir,” he called out, fake concern dripping from every word, “or you need help standing up again?”
A few kids laughed automatically, but the sound lacked the earlier confidence. My dad turned his head toward Tyler, movements calm, measured, eyes clear and focused in a way that made the distance between them feel smaller than the space across the cafeteria.
Continue reading…
