My black gloves received sympathy- flowers and kisses that whole afternoon. Our tall brave sons; the contours of childhood disappearing, stood at each side of me, pressed into my flanks.
In our town, my man patrolled the football scene. Hooligans and bullies backed off and behaved when he demonstrated his warrior’s prowess with his raised fist.
I never missed a game—cursed, screamed, whistled, whooped on his tiger qualities. I should have cheered his soul-level gentleness, his playfulness, and his kindness. It was these emotional qualities that made him great.