mortuus est
Veteran
From his new autobiography
“Coach and I boarded a flight to Houston. We were forty-five minutes from our destination when the boom of thunder shook us out of our seats. Moments later the strike of lightning pierced the black sky. That’s when I saw it: a tornado ripping its way through the night. The plane shook as the pilot announced that we were flying through a severe storm. We were told to brace for turbulence. I turned around to find passengers in prayer, flight attendants included. The storm bellowed as I heard muted crying. I looked at Coach. We didn’t exchange any words but I knew we were thinking the same thing. Maybe this was it. We bowed our heads and all I could think of was my son. I know what you’re thinking. What son? Truth is I didn’t know him all that well either. I’d only learned I had a child a year before. He was already ten months old. A girl I used to see had a baby and people were saying it looked like me. I hadn’t even known she was pregnant. I reached out and asked her if it was mine. She was unsure. I took a blood test and enough, I was the father of a little boy. The circumstances under which I’d learned I was a father weren’t ideal—almost a year after his birth, to a woman I wasn’t in a relationship with or in love with. Still, I was happy. I’d always loved children. I hadn’t been able to embrace my new role as a father. Between getting sent back to jail, my career being busier than ever, and the drugs, I hadn’t been in my son’s life as much as I should have. But in that moment, with the plane shaking, he was all I could think about.”