Now I needed to change it.
“Who should I put down instead?” Mrs. Larson asked.
“Duane Ostrem. Her grandfather.”
There was a small pause.
“That will be lovely.”
Then she asked gently:
“Is everything okay at home, Jodi?”
“Yes. Kaylee simply wants her grandpa.”
That was true.
It just wasn’t the entire story.
Wednesday evening, I called Dad.
He answered on the fourth ring, as he always did.
I explained everything.
Kaylee’s request.
Travis’s refusal.
The words about real fathers.
Dad listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he didn’t criticize Travis.
He asked only one question.
“Does Travis know you’re calling me?”
“No.”
Dad was silent for a while.
Then he said:
“Well, what time should I be there?”
I nearly cried.
“The ceremony starts around six forty-five. Could you arrive by six?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Dad, it’s a long walk across the gym. You’ll have to use your cane.”
He chuckled.
“Jodi, I’ve walked farther than that through snowdrifts to reach my barn. I think I can manage a gymnasium for my granddaughter.”
I didn’t tell Travis about the arrangement.
Part of me knew I should.
But I worried that if he learned Dad was coming, he would change his mind simply because he didn’t want to look bad.
I wanted him to understand his mistake for himself.
Thursday finally arrived.
I worked at the dental clinic until four and picked Mason up afterward.
He had made a homemade poster for Kaylee, decorating it with a large orange volleyball that looked suspiciously like a pumpkin.
“It’s a volleyball,” he informed me before I could comment. “I ran out of white.”
We arrived at the school gym just after five.
Travis came directly from work, wearing his usual fleece vest and boots.
He sat beside me near the front of the bleachers.
The gym smelled of popcorn and freshly polished flooring. Maroon and gold streamers decorated the railings, and large photographs of the six senior volleyball players stood beside the scorer’s table.
Kaylee’s poster showed her jumping to strike the ball, her long blonde braid flying behind her.
A bucket of red roses sat nearby.
Traditionally, each senior presented a rose to the family member escorting them onto the court.
I noticed Travis looking at the flowers.
Then he lowered his eyes.
He clasped his hands between his knees and began rubbing his thumb nervously.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Fine.”
His answer sounded exactly like Kaylee’s response at dinner.
I watched the side entrance as the junior varsity match continued.
Six o’clock passed.
Then six-oh-five.
I started worrying that Dad might have encountered trouble on the road.
At 6:12, the side door finally opened.
My father walked inside.
He wore his tan Sunday jacket, a crisp white shirt, polished shoes, and his favorite green seed-company cap.
In his right hand was his familiar hickory cane.
Instead of joining us in the bleachers, he walked directly toward the seniors gathering near the court.
Kaylee saw him and broke into a smile.
She hurried over and slipped her arm through his.
From the bleachers, I watched Travis notice them.
First came confusion.
Then recognition.
He turned slowly toward me.
“Jodi?”
“She asked Grandpa to walk with her,” I whispered. “Tuesday night, after dinner.”
Travis looked back toward Kaylee.
She was laughing at something Dad had said.
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.
He placed his cane carefully on the polished floor.
Then they began walking.
Slowly.
Cane.
Step.
Step.
Cane.
Step.
Step.
Each movement was deliberate.
The gym gradually became quieter as people watched the seventy-nine-year-old farmer escort his granddaughter toward center court.
Mr. Halvorson continued reading her achievements.
“Kaylee has maintained honor-roll status throughout high school, participated in the National Honor Society, and shown dairy heifers through 4-H for eight years…”
Then someone in the highest row stood.
A second person followed.
Then another.
Within seconds, entire sections of the bleachers were rising.
People who had known my father for decades stood applauding.
Parents on the visiting side joined them.
Even the opposing volleyball team began clapping.
Soon, nearly everyone in the gym was on their feet.
I covered my mouth.
Tears blurred my vision.
But Dad didn’t seem to notice the attention.
He kept his eyes on the floor, concentrating on each careful step.
Kaylee held his arm proudly.
Then I noticed movement beside me.
Travis had stood.
At first, I assumed he was simply joining the applause.
But his hands remained at his sides.
He was staring toward the court.
His jaw tightened.
Then he reached for the railing and stepped down from the bleachers.
My heart began racing.
There were four steps between our seats and the gym floor.
I counted every one.
Travis crossed the sideline in his work boots, moving toward Kaylee and Dad.
They were about ten feet from center court when he reached them.
He approached Kaylee’s other side.
Then he offered her his arm.
My daughter stopped walking.
She looked at him.
For a moment, she didn’t move.
I could see her shoulders rise as she took a breath.
Then she slipped her free hand through his arm.
The three of them continued together.
Grandpa on one side.
Travis on the other.
Cane.
Step.
Step.
Travis adjusted his pace to match my father’s.
The applause grew louder.
Mason jumped beside me, waving his homemade poster.
“That’s my dad! That’s my dad!”
Mr. Halvorson finished reading Kaylee’s achievements, then stepped away from the scorer’s table.
He walked toward Travis and handed him the microphone.
My husband looked terrified.
Travis was a quiet man who preferred working with farmers to speaking in front of crowds.
Now hundreds of people were watching him.
He raised the microphone.
His hand trembled.
“My name is Travis Brandt,” he began. “I’ve been Kaylee’s stepfather for nine years.”
He paused.
“Tuesday night, she asked me to walk her onto this court. And I told her no.”
The room became silent.
“I told her that honor belonged to real fathers.”
He glanced down.
“I thought I was respecting a place that belonged to somebody else. I’ve spent nine years worrying that I didn’t have the right to call myself her dad.”
Then he turned toward Kaylee.
His voice cracked.
“But I was wrong.”
He swallowed.
“I’ve been showing up for you for nine years, Kay. I’ve been your dad in all the ways that matter. I just never had the courage to say it.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
He handed the microphone back.
Kaylee didn’t speak.
Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
He hugged her tightly.
Her long blonde braid fell across the back of his fleece vest.
I stood in the bleachers, crying openly.
Then Dad did something I will never forget.
Kaylee had given him her red rose when they reached center court.
He was holding it carefully beside his cane.
When she stepped away from Travis, Grandpa extended the flower toward him.
Travis shook his head.
“No, sir. That’s yours.”
Dad kept his hand extended.
“Take it, son.”
Travis hesitated.
Grandpa smiled.
“I already raised my daughter. This one’s yours.”
For a moment, Travis couldn’t move.
Then he accepted the rose.