My husband didn’t respond.
He simply sat very still.
The junior varsity players cleared the floor, and the seniors lined up along the sideline.
Mr. Halvorson, the longtime announcer, tapped his microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please join us in recognizing our graduating senior volleyball players and their families.”
The first student walked out with both parents.
The second appeared with her mother and stepfather.
The third was accompanied by several relatives, including her grandmother in a wheelchair.
Every family received warm applause.
Then Mr. Halvorson looked at his next card.
“Number seventeen, four-year varsity letter winner and middle hitter, Kaylee Brandt, escorted tonight by her grandfather, Mr. Duane Ostrem!”
A murmur traveled through the bleachers.
Nearly everyone in our little town knew Dad.
Some had purchased milk from his farm. Others had attended church with him, worked alongside him, or known him since childhood.
Kaylee moved her rose into her left hand and linked her right arm through Grandpa’s.
