It was close to 11pm on a school night.
Anthony and I went to a hockey game. He was tired. I could see it in how he moved, how quiet he was on the way to the car.
We started driving home, and he said,
“Can you talk to me so I don’t fall asleep?”
So I did. Just a few things. I asked him if he had fun.
And then I slowed my voice.
Not all at once. Just gradually.
I could hear his breathing shift. See his head lean a little more.
He was out by the time we left the arena parking lot.
And that’s what I’ll remember. Not the game. Not the score.
But that moment in the car—me talking him to sleep.
I know it won’t always be this way.
One day, he’ll drive himself home.
But not yet.
Leave a Reply