Chapter 14
I was drafted in the later rounds after college.
Not first.
Not glamorous.
Enough.
Mom cried so much during the call I had to put her on mute.
Uncle Ray shouted in the background.
Brandon texted: You earned it.
Coach, weak but alive, sent: Don’t get weird.
Too late.
Professional baseball was brutal.
Long bus rides.
Small pay.
Better hitters.
Loneliness.
I had to become good all over again.
Some nights, I wondered if Carl had been right about one thing.
Maybe I was showing off.
Then I remembered Coach.
You don’t owe anyone a smaller version of yourself.
So I pitched.
Worked.
Lost.
Improved.
The first time I appeared in a major league game, Mom sat behind the dugout in a jersey with my name on it.
My name.
Not Carl’s.
Not Brandon’s.
Mine.
I threw one inning.
No runs.
Afterward, reporters asked about my journey.
I could have told a clean sports story.
Hard work.
Adversity.
Dreams.
Instead, I told the truth.
“I’m here because people believed me when a powerful adult tried to make my success look like a crime.”
The clip spread.
Again.
May you like
But this time, I did not feel exposed.
I felt grounded.
