We arrived at the school a little after five.
The parking lot was already filling with families, and people were carrying flowers through the entrance.
Mason insisted on holding his poster himself.
I let him.
He had worked hard on it, and the orange volleyball was beginning to look less like a pumpkin than it had that morning.
Inside, the gym smelled of polished wood and popcorn.
Maroon and gold streamers hung along the railings.
The school had placed large photographs of the six graduating volleyball players near the scorer's table.
Kaylee's picture showed her jumping to hit a ball, her blonde braid swinging behind her.
I stopped to look at it.
She looked confident in the photograph.
That was what I wanted her to feel that evening.
Confident.
Loved.
Certain that the people who mattered to her were proud of the person she had become.
A bucket of red roses stood beside the photographs.
Each senior would receive a flower to present to the family member who escorted them onto the court.
I hadn't thought much about the roses before.
Now I found myself wondering what Kaylee would do with hers.
I hoped Dad would be able to hold it comfortably while managing his cane.
I hoped he wouldn't feel rushed.
Most of all, I hoped she wouldn't spend the ceremony watching everyone else instead of enjoying her own moment.
Travis arrived directly from work.
He was wearing his usual fleece vest and work boots.
He greeted Mason, asked Kaylee how she was feeling, and sat beside me near the front of the bleachers.
For a little while, everything looked normal.
That was the strange part.
He had spent years becoming part of this family.
He knew where we liked to sit.
He knew which entrance was easiest to use when Mason was carrying something.
He knew how long it took to find a parking space when the gym was full.
He had been here for so many games that the place must have felt almost like a second home.
Yet now he sat with his hands clasped between his knees, rubbing one thumb against the other.
I glanced at him.
"You all right?"
"Yeah."
He looked toward the court.
"Just ready for the game."
I didn't answer.
I knew he was lying.
He was nervous, and I suspected he was thinking about the ceremony he had declined to take part in.
But I didn't ask.
I had already made the decision not to tell him about Dad.
I would have to live with the consequences of that choice.
At six o'clock, the seniors began gathering near the sideline.
Parents moved toward the lower rows to take photographs.
Someone behind us was trying to quiet a toddler who had decided the gym was an excellent place to shout.
Mason held up his poster.
"Do you think Kaylee can see this?"
"Not yet," I told him.
He lowered it.
Then he raised it again.
Travis watched him and smiled faintly.
I looked at the empty space beside me.
Dad wasn't there yet.
For the first time all evening, I began to worry.
He had promised to arrive around six.
It was now a little past six.
The drive from his farm wasn't short, and he didn't like driving quickly.
I knew that.
Still, I kept glancing toward the side entrance.
At 6:12, the door opened.
My father stepped inside.
He wore his tan Sunday jacket over a crisp white shirt.
His shoes were polished, and his familiar green seed-company cap sat squarely on his head.
In his right hand was the hickory cane he had used since his hip surgery.
He paused just inside the doorway, looked toward the court, and began walking.
I felt my shoulders relax.
He had come.
He had actually come.
Instead of making his way toward the bleachers, Dad headed straight for the seniors.
Kaylee saw him before anyone else did.
Her face changed immediately.
She smiled so broadly that I could see it from where I sat.
Then she hurried over to him.
She slipped her arm through his, careful not to interfere with the cane.
Dad said something that made her laugh.
I couldn't hear the words.
I didn't need to.
For the first time since Tuesday's dinner, my daughter looked completely at ease.
I watched her lean toward him as they spoke.
Then I heard Travis say my name.
"Jodi?"
I turned.
He was staring at the court.
His expression had gone still.
"That's your dad," he said.
"Yes."
He looked back at me.
"What is he doing here?"
I took a breath.
"Kaylee asked him to walk with her."
Travis turned toward the court again.
"When?"
"Tuesday night. After dinner."
He didn't answer.
I could see him trying to understand.
The girl he had refused to accompany was now standing with my seventy-nine-year-old father, who was carefully positioning his cane beside the sideline.
Travis looked down at his hands.
Then he looked at Kaylee again.
She was still smiling.
I wanted to say something that would make the moment easier for him.
I wanted to tell him that I hadn't arranged this to embarrass him.
I wanted to explain that Kaylee had made the request herself.
But none of those explanations would change what had happened at our kitchen table.
He had said no.
My father had said yes.
And now both men were going to be in the gym.
The junior varsity players finished clearing the floor.
The seniors lined up along the sideline, adjusting their uniforms and talking quietly among themselves.
Mr. Halvorson, the longtime announcer, stepped up to the microphone.
He welcomed the families and asked everyone to join him in recognizing the graduating volleyball players.
The first senior walked onto the court with her parents.
The second came out with her mother and stepfather.
The third was accompanied by several relatives, including a grandmother who used a wheelchair.
Each family received applause.
The students smiled for photographs.
Parents called out their children's names.
The gym felt warm and familiar, full of the little sounds that came with a school event.
Then Mr. Halvorson looked down at the next card.
"Next, we have number seventeen, Kaylee Brandt, a four-year varsity letter winner and one of our senior middle hitters."
My daughter straightened.
She moved her red rose into her left hand and held out her right arm.
Dad took it carefully.
The announcer continued.
"Tonight, Kaylee is accompanied by her grandfather, Mr. Duane Ostrem."
A murmur moved through the bleachers.
People knew my father.
Some had bought milk from his farm years earlier.
Others had worked with him, attended church with him, or known him since they were children themselves.
Several people near the front leaned forward.
Dad adjusted his cap.
Then he placed his cane on the polished floor.
He took one careful step.
Kaylee moved with him.
Another step.
Then another.
They began crossing the court together.
Cane.
Step.
Step.
My father moved slowly, concentrating on each placement of his feet.
Kaylee didn't pull him along.
She didn't look impatient.
She simply matched his pace.
Mr. Halvorson began reading her achievements.
He mentioned her academic work, her participation in the National Honor Society, and her years showing dairy heifers through 4-H.
I watched Dad listen as he walked.
He had spent years watching Kaylee grow up.
He had seen her learn to drive, struggle through school assignments, and work toward becoming a varsity athlete.
Now he was escorting her onto the court in front of hundreds of people.
He wasn't thinking about whether he deserved the place.
He wasn't worried that someone might accuse him of replacing another man.
Kaylee had asked him to come.
That was enough.
I felt tears gather in my eyes.
Then I noticed someone standing in the highest row of the bleachers.
A man had risen to his feet.
A moment later, another person stood beside him.
Then a woman in the next section got up.
The applause began to spread.
People who had known Dad for decades were recognizing him.
Parents on the visiting side joined in.
Even the opposing volleyball team began clapping.
Within seconds, nearly the entire gym was standing.
I covered my mouth.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen so many people rise for one person without being asked.
Dad didn't look up.
He kept his attention on the floor, placing his cane carefully and moving one foot at a time.
Kaylee held his arm proudly.
And then I saw Travis move.
At first, I thought he was standing to applaud.
But he didn't clap.
He stepped toward the railing and began making his way down from the bleachers.
My heart started beating faster.
There were four steps between our seats and the gym floor.
I watched him descend them.
He crossed the sideline in his work boots, his face pale and his jaw tight.
Dad and Kaylee were approaching the center of the court.
They were still moving slowly.
Travis reached them when they were about ten feet from the middle.
He stopped beside Kaylee.
For a moment, he simply looked at her.
Then he offered his arm.
My daughter stopped walking.
She turned toward him.
I couldn't see her expression clearly from the bleachers, but I could see that she was surprised.
She didn't move immediately.
Neither did Travis.
The applause continued around them, but I could no longer hear individual claps.
I could only see my husband standing beside the girl he had raised for nine years, waiting to find out whether she would let him join her.
Kaylee took a breath.
Then she slipped her free hand through his arm.
Dad remained on one side.
Travis stood on the other.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then my father adjusted his grip on his cane.
Kaylee looked at him.
Travis looked down at his boots.
And the three of them began walking again.
Cane.
Step.
Step.
My husband shortened his stride to match my father's pace.
He didn't hurry Kaylee.
He didn't try to take over.
He simply walked beside her.
The applause grew louder.
Mason jumped up beside me, waving his poster so enthusiastically that he nearly struck the person sitting behind him.
"That's my dad!" he shouted. "That's my dad!"
I started crying.
Not because everything had suddenly become perfect.
It hadn't.
My husband still had to face what he'd said.
My daughter still had to decide what it meant that he'd come forward now.
And I still had to admit that I had kept the arrangement from him instead of speaking honestly.
But something had changed on that court.
Travis had offered his arm.
Kaylee had accepted it.
And for the first time since Tuesday night, I saw my husband stop worrying about whether he had the right to stand beside her.
He was finally doing it.
Source: kaylestore.net
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: My Husband Took the Microphone With Shaking Hands, and the First Thing He Did Was Admit What He Had Done
My Daughter Asked the Man Who Raised Her to Walk Beside Her, and His Answer Changed the Way I Saw Our Family
Part 4 of 12
