Excerpts

Memory like a Movie The memory goes like this: Ollie's got the ball and he's running across my yard when Dad comes out of nowhere, soft tackles him to the ground. Then everyone is cheering and laughing because we didn't even know my dad was home. I thought you had a game, I say, grabbing him. It's a half hug, half tackle, but the other guys--Darry and Daniel--hop on too and Ollie's escaped, so he jumps on top of all of us jumping on my dad. Yeah, Mr. J., Darry says. I thought we'd be watching you on TV tonight. Coach giving me a break, my daddy says. He climbs out from under, shaking us off like we're feathers, not boys. Ah man! Darry says. Yeah, we all say. Ah man! Sometimes a player needs to rest, Daddy says. He looks at each of us for a long time. A strange look. Like he's just now seeing us. Then he tosses the ball so far, we can't even see it anymore. And my boys say Ah man, you threw it too far! while I go back behind the garage where we have a whole bunch of footballs waiting and ready for when my daddy sends one into the abyss. Everybody's Looking for a Hero Once, when I was a little kid, this newscaster guy asked me if my dad was my biggest hero. No, I said. My dad's just my dad. There was a crowd of newscasters circling around me, all of them with their microphones aimed at my face. Maybe I was nervous, I don't remember now. Maybe it was after his first Super Bowl win, his ring new and shining on his finger. Me just a little kid, so the ring was this whole glittering world, gold and black and diamonds against my daddy's brown hand. I remember hearing the reporter say Listen to those fans! Looks like everybody's found their next great hero. And now I'm thinking back to those times when the cold wind whipped around me and Mom as we sat wrapped in blankets, yelling Dad's name, so close to the game, we could see the angry spit spraying from the other team's coach's lips. So close, we could see the sweat on my daddy's neck. And all the people around us cheering, all the people going around calling out his number, calling out his name. Zachariah 44! Zachariah 44! Is your daddy your hero? the newscaster had asked me. And all these years later, just like that day, I know he's not my hero, he's my dad, which means he's my every single thing. Day after the Game Day after the game and Daddy gets out of bed slow. His whole body, he says, is 223 pounds of pain from toes to knees, from knees to ribs, every single hit he took yesterday remembered in the morning. Before the Ever After Before the ever after, there was Daddy driving to Village Ice Cream on a Saturday night in July before preseason training. Before the ever after, there was Mom in the back seat letting me ride up front, me and Daddy having Man Time together waving to everyone who pointed at our car and said That's him! Before the ever after, the way people said That's him! sounded like a cheer. Before the ever after, the people pointing were always smiling. Before the ever after, Daddy's hands didn't always tremble and his voice didn't shake and his head didn't hurt all the time. Before the ever after, there were picnics on Sunday afternoons in Central Park driving through the tunnel to get to the city me and Daddy making up songs. Before the ever after, there were sandwiches on the grass near Strawberry Fields chicken salad and barbecue beef and ham with apples and Brie there were dark chocolates with almonds and milk chocolates with coconut and fruit and us just laughing and laughing. Before the ever after, there was the three of us and we lived happily before the ever after. Daniel In second grade, Daniel walked over to me, Ollie and Darry, said You guys want to race from here to the tree ? When he lost, he laughed and didn't even care, just high-fived Darry, who always wins every race every time and said You got feet like wings, bruh. Then he got on his bike and we knew he wasn't regular. He was fearless. Even back then, he could already do things on a bike that a bike wasn't made for doing-- popping wheelies and spinning and standing up on the seat while holding on to the handlebars and speeding down the steepest hills in town. Me, Darry and Ollie used to call ourselves Tripod cuz the three us came together like that. But when we met Daniel, we became the Fantastic Four. And even after he broke his arm when he jumped a skate park ramp right into a wall, he didn't stop riding. He said My cast is like a second helmet, held it high in the air with the unbroken arm holding the handlebars and then not holding them and Daniel flying around the park like some kid gravity couldn't mess with. While me and Darry and Ollie watched him amazed. And terrified. ZJ I used to wonder who I'd be if "Zachariah 44" Johnson wasn't my daddy. First time people who know even a little bit about football meet me, it's like they know him , not me. To them, I'm Zachariah's son. The tight end guy's kid. I'm Zachariah Johnson Jr. ZJ. I'm the one whose daddy plays pro ball. I'm the tall kid with my daddy's same broad shoulders. I'm the one who doesn't dream of going pro. Music maybe. But not football. Still, even at school, feels like my dad's in two places at once--dropping me off out front, saying Learn lots, little man, then walking into the classroom ahead of me. I mean, not him but his shadow. And me almost invisible inside it. Except to my boys who see me walking into the classroom and say What's up, ZJ? Your mom throw any cookies in your lunch? Then all three of them open their hands beneath their desks so that when the teacher's back is turned I can sneak them one. You Love a Thing? Ever since I was a little kid, I've loved football, my daddy told me. Through every broken toe and cracked rib and jammed finger and slam to the shoulder and slam to the head, I still loved it. You got something you love, little man? Then you good. You love food? You cook. You love clothes? You design. You love the wind and water? You sail. Me, my daddy said, I love everything about the game. Even the smell of the ball. Then he laughed, said Imagine loving something so much, you love the smell of it? It smells like leather and dirt and sweat and new snow. I love football with all of my senses. Love the taste and feel of the air in my mouth running with the ball on a cold day. Love the smell of the ball when I press it to my face and the smell of the field right after it rains. I love the way the sky looks as we stare up at it while some celebrity sings "The Star-Spangled Banner." Love the sound of the crowd cheering us on. When you love a thing, little man, my dad said, you gotta love it with everything you got. Till you can't even tell where that thing you love begins and where you end. Who We Are & What We Love Ollie divides fractions in his head, can multiply them too--gives you the answer while you're still trying to write down the problem, knows so much about so much but doesn't show off about knowing. Darry--besides running fast, he can dance. Get the music going and my boy moves like water flowing. All smooth like that. Daniel's super chill, says stuff like You okay, my man? You need to talk? And really means it. And really listens. Calls his bike a Magic Broom, spins it in so many circles we all get dizzy, but not Daniel, who bounces the front tire back to earth without even blinking, says That was for all of y'all who are stuck on the ground. Me, I play the guitar. Mostly songs that come into my head. Music is always circling my brain. Hard to explain how songs do that. But when I play them, everything makes some kind of strange sense like my guitar has all the answers. When I sing, the songs feel as magic as Daniel's bike as brilliant as Ollie's numbers as smooth as Darry's moves as good as the four of us hanging out on a bright cold Saturday afternoon. It feels right and clear and always. Excerpted from Before the Ever After by Jacqueline Woodson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.