Today Fitz and his father are going to the guitar store. Curtis says he’s wanted to play for years but needs help picking out an instrument. He wants to get an acoustic, nothing fancy, something to learn on, and has asked Fitz if he’d be willing to show him the basics. Fitz tries to imagine himself teaching his father to play. Sharing some of the simple songs Uncle Dunc taught him when he was learning. “This Land Is Your Land.” “You Are My Sunshine.” Fitz can remember how long it took him to master a simple C chord, how his fingers ached. It’s not easy being bad at something, being a beginner, especially for a grown-up—Fitz gives his dad credit for being willing.
His dad pulls up, parks in front of the house, and gets out of the car. He’s wearing jeans and a striped polo and some pretty unfashionable sandal-like footwear. He looks a little like a model in a Father’s Day ad. He looks like someone dressed him for the first day of dad school. Fitz doesn’t mind. He likes that he seems to be trying. If he’s a little nerdy in his weekend wear, that’s okay with Fitz. It’s part of the whole dad package.
So what kind of dad is he? Fitz asks himself. He’s still not sure. Maybe he needs to do more fieldwork, more observation. Time will tell. Or maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s a stupid question. What kind of dad is he? My dad. That’s who he is. In the end, maybe that’s all that matters.
He’s standing there now, right in front of him, his mouth moving, talking to him.
Fitz takes out his earbuds. He stands up. He feels his mom behind him, inside the screen door, watching.
“Fitz!” his father says. He is smiling. “You ready?”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For support during the writing of this book, I am grateful to Canisius College; I am likewise grateful to my wonderful colleagues and students for their encouragement and inspiration. For sharing their expertise, I am indebted to Dave Alexander, Bill Gartz, Jesse Mank, and Ron Ousky. Thanks to Lon Otto for being a great reader and a great friend, to Jay Mandel for being such a wise and faithful guide for many years, and to Erin Clarke for her patience, kindness, and quiet brilliance. I am grateful, finally, to my family, Mary, Sam, and Henry, for the love and laughter that sustain me every day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MICK COCHRANE was born and raised in St. Paul, Minnesota, and remains a passionate fan of the Minnesota Twins. He is the author of two adult novels, Flesh Wounds and Sport, and a middle-grade novel, The Girl Who Threw Butterflies, which USA Today called “a lovely coming-of-age novel … seasoned with small doses of Zen, baseball lore and history.”
Mick lives with his family in Buffalo, New York, where he is a professor of English and Lowery Writer-in-Residence at Canisius College. You can visit him online at mickcochrane.com.
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