Chapter 1

December 27, 2015 – Edward Jones Stadium, St. Louis, MO

The Rams fans quieted as the referee signaled for the clock to start. It clicked down from 1:09. We had very little time left to make up the 27-21 deficit we faced. Aaron Morano, the all-pro cornerback and close friend and college teammate of my brother, Kyle, was lined up a yard across from me at my split-end spot.

Nate Cook, our slot receiver in his third year, was lined up about four yards closer to the tackle than me. Our quarterback, Dylan Harris, barked out the first cadence. Nate ran across the field behind our formation, ending up in the slot between our tight end, second-year player Clay Wicks, and our flanker, Mike Wimberly. The nickel back followed Nate.

I suppressed a smile as I glanced in towards the middle of our formation. Dylan looked my way and gave me a half smile. We understood each other. My go route was now a slant over the middle. The 49ers were planning press, man coverage. We had them out-foxed.

Dylan barked again and took the snap. I juked to my left like I was going deep down the sideline. I used my left arm to scrape Aaron’s jam attempt away from my torso. I darted right as Aaron tried to recover position on me again. My slant route made that impossible.

Dylan dropped back five steps, scanned the field and spotted me coming open. He rifled the ball between two defensive linemen. Dylan perfectly anticipated my speed, allowing me to snatch ball out of the air as I ran by it. I kicked into high gear and sprinted downfield.

Navorro Bowman, one of the 49er’s inside linebackers, took a shot at tackling me, missing badly. He had been in a poor position to get me. I knew Aaron wouldn’t be more than a half yard behind me. He had 0.02-0.03 seconds speed advantage on me in the 40, but that wasn’t enough for him to catch me after he missed the jam. The 49ers free safety had rotated over to help cover Mike Wimberly on the deep go route Mike ran on the opposite side of the field. Aaron had been responsible for covering me by himself the whole game, as was appropriate for an all-pro corner covering a rookie wide receiver.

I pushed my legs hard, trying to maintain my separation from Aaron. I saw a blur in gold and blue come alongside me then I heard the hit behind me. I chanced a glance back. Clay Wicks had pancaked Aaron Morano. I angled towards the left corner of the end zone and motored the rest of the way, untouched. The Rams crowd cheered me the last ten or fifteen yards before I scored the touchdown. I held the ball aloft to celebrate when I reached the end zone.

I scanned the crowd on the left side of the stadium, wishing to catch sight of my parents, my sister, Liz, my little five-year-old brother, Hunter, and my twin sons, Noah and Connor. They were storm-stayed in Denver instead of here in the stands watching me play. Dylan, Mike, Clay and Nate swamped me to congratulate me, driving thoughts of my family away for a bit. I managed to toss the ball to the referee before the five of us jogged off the field. Mark Briggs, our kicker in his thirteenth season, made the PAT easily. Score: Rams-28, 49ers-27.

0:44 remained on the clock when Mark kicked the ball back to the 49ers. He hit a boomer. The returner let it bounce about a yard short of the back end of the end zone when it came down. The 49ers needed to go 80 yards to score a touchdown to clinch their fourth straight division title. The 49ers made us sweat, but our defense held, just barely. The game ended when their normally very reliable kicker thumped the 59 yard attempt a little too low. Darrian Newton swatted the ball away as it flew over his head.

“Can you believe it, Andrew?” Dylan Harris asked as he hugged me on the sidelines. “You did real good ... real good for a rookie.”

“Thanks, Dylan,” I answered. “You make it easy for me with your quarterbacking.”

“Thanks, man,” Dylan replied. “Can you believe this? We were 2-5 and then 3-6 at mid-season. Everyone wrote us off. This win makes us 8-7. If we kick Seattle’s backside next Sunday, we will get into the playoffs for sure.”

“I know, man,” I agreed. “It’s been a long time coming for this team.”

Dylan and I, and the rest of our team wandered out onto the field to talk with our opponents. Aaron was one of the first persons I encountered.

“Damn, you’re getting to be as hard to cover as Kyle is,” Aaron said as he shook my hand. “I’m glad you don’t have more brothers coming up. You and Kyle are enough for me right now.”

“Will never had much interest in football and is a little old to start now,” I replied. “Hunter likes football, but I doubt you’ll still be playing when he or my boys turn twenty-two.”

“How old are your boys?” Aaron asked.

“They’re six,” I answered. “They should have been here today. Mom and Dad took our family to Denver to spend Christmas with Kyle, Penny and David. They should have arrived here last night but that big snowstorm in Colorado forced them to spend another couple days in Denver. They’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tell your family I said hi,” Aaron said. “Good luck against the Seahawks next week.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “Good luck against Arizona next weekend. Tell Ed Fritz I said hi.”

“I’ll do that,” Aaron agreed as he gave me a wink. “Right after I pick off one of his passes.”

I mingled with more of the 49er players, accepting congratulations on our victory and my game winning TD. I talked briefly with a couple other rookie players I met at the NFLPA Rookie symposium last June. Channels 2 (ABC) and 4 (CBS) interviewed me before I headed into the locker room.

I guess I should take a moment to introduce myself. I am Andrew Martin, the middle child of Dan and Sharon Martin’s five children. We were raised in Paradise, Pennsylvania in a middle class and thoroughly conventional home. My oldest half-brother, Will Henry, is a physics instructor at Princeton. Will expects to complete his doctorate in astrophysics this coming spring.

I’m sure you already heard of my brother, Kyle, far and away the most famous of the Martin clan. Kyle decided to try out for football when he started high school. He made our varsity team as a ninth grader and has excelled at every level he’s played at since that first day eleven years ago. He made All-American in both high school and college. He was recruited by the top college football schools like USC, LSU, Michigan and Penn State. Kyle broke virtually every record for receiving, scoring and all-purpose yards in the NCAA during his four years at Penn State. Kyle won the Biletnikoff and Maxwell Awards and was the runner-up for the Heisman Trophy. The Denver Broncos picked him with the sixth pick of the 2013 draft. My brother excelled in Denver, helping his team to the Super Bowl and himself to three Pro Bowls in his first three seasons.

I am the “Other Martin” when people talk about our family. I was more of an indoors person than Kyle when we were younger. I loved playing computer games then. Still do, actually. I was first attracted to football for the mental aspects – the strategies, the game planning, how does this play work against that defense?

To my surprise, I found I had some physical talents to complement my mental skills. I am tall, have long legs and can run fast. Coach Kelly, formerly of the Eagles, said it best. “Big guys beat up little guys.” I’m a big guy at 6-5” and 215 pounds. I have a couple inches and 5-10 pounds on Aaron Morano. It made the difference on my final touchdown. He couldn’t jam me at the line of scrimmage. I got loose and Aaron, in spite of his excellent speed, couldn’t keep up and make a play on the ball. Touchdown and we win! In fairness to the 49ers coaches, it wasn’t bad call to try and jam me. It worked two months earlier when we played them out in San Francisco. We lost 41-26. Aaron Morano held me to two catches and no touchdowns that evening.

My brother, Kyle, mentored me and helped me develop into a good high school receiver. I enjoyed the perks of high school stardom too – particularly the girls. I was a regular lothario in middle school and high school. I bedded cheerleaders two and three years old than me, the prettiest girls in my classes and just about anybody in a skirt. My wild and careless ways caught up with me eventually, as they always do.

I got my girlfriend du jour pregnant just before we started tenth grade. Crystal wasn’t prepared to raise a baby. I wasn’t either. It turned out Crystal was pregnant with twins. Thank God my parents were willing to shoulder the burden from my mistakes and raise my sons. Noah and Connor are six years old now and my delight.

The past six months I’ve been in St. Louis and my twins were living with Mom and Dad in Paradise have been hell – for them and for me. I really need to find a wife and a step-mother to help care for the twins so we can live like a normal family. My quest has been challenging.

High school girls were NOT interested in me back then. Who wants to date the father of two babies? College girls weren’t any more interested in dating a father either. I meet a little less resistance now that I’m out of school when I mention my boys, but it is still a factor. I also suspect the $18.8 million contract I signed last spring makes me more attractive.

Well, that is the cross I bear – willingly and gladly. Noah and Connor are the light of my life ... and they will be in St. Louis tomorrow morning!

I have a younger sister, Liz, who is a junior at Princeton, studying pre-law, and a five-year-old brother, Hunter, who is my boys’ constant companion in everything. I pick up Liz, Hunter, Noah, Connor and my parents at the airport at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.

Coach Tolbert was assembling the team in the locker room after I cleared off the field.

“That was a tremendous win, everyone,” Coach announced the boisterous locker room. “Just tremendous! Today is not the time to celebrate. This team has more work to do to reach the goals we set at the beginning of the year. We can’t catch the Niners for division lead. They’re still 10-5 with today’s loss. We’re 8-7 and probably tied with Seattle. I haven’t heard the score of Seattle’s game yet.”

“Hey, Coach,” Marcus Waldron, our starting tailback, called out. “I got the results on my phone. The Cards upset the Seahawks 23-21 a few minutes ago.” The announcement was met with cheers from the entire team. Silently I mouthed, ‘Way to go, Ed.’ Ed Fritz was my neighbor growing up, my brother Kyle’s best friend and now the second year QB leading the Cardinals.

“OK ... OK ... everyone,” Coach Tolbert shouted. “Calm down. This puts a new face on things. Next Sunday afternoon we host the Seahawks. If we take care of business and win, we go to the playoffs. Once we reach the playoffs, anything is possible. I am so proud of this team the way you hung together after our horrendous 2-5 start. You went 6-2 in the past two months. This team is coming together, growing and ready to seize the future.” The team cheered our head coach’s words.

“I have three game balls today,” Coach Tolbert announced. “Lavonn Dixon, you did a great job stuffing the middle and shutting down Frank Gore.” Coach tossed the 6’-8”, 330 pound nose guard a ball. “Dylan ... Dylan Harris, you had a hell of a game – 402 yards passing, 3 TDs and no interceptions. THAT is how it is done.” Coach tossed a ball to our leader and QB as the team cheered the well-deserved honor.

“Last game ball goes to ... Andrew Martin,” Coach announced. “That last play was a clinic on how to beat press coverage. Game ball for the winning TD.” Coach tossed me my trophy ball as my teammates around me slapped me on the back and congratulated me. Coach Tolbert laughed. “Andrew, you and your brother, along with maybe two other receivers in the league are able to do what you did to the best cornerback in the NFC. Great job!”

“One more thing, everyone,” Coach continued. “You have tomorrow morning off. Come in at 1:00 PM for film study of today’s game. We have things we need to correct to move this team ahead. You have Tuesday off. We will be back to our normal practice schedule Wednesday through Saturday. Come in Wednesday morning with recharged batteries. We have a lot of work to do to prepare for Seattle.”

Everyone cheered the time off. We needed the time to heal our aches and bruises from a long season. My brother, Kyle, warned me how long the NFL season would be. I was feeling it, to an extent. I had one advantage over my fellow rookies from the bigger, FBS schools. My high school team regularly played fourteen or fifteen games, if you counted the playoffs. My Wolverines won two state championships and played in the semi-finals my other two years on varsity.

My FCS Delaware Blue Hens did well while I attended the university. We played fifteen games the year we won the FCS National Championship. We played deep into the FCS playoffs the other three years. This game today was my nineteenth since the beginning of August. I had at least one or two more to go. Rest tomorrow morning and Tuesday would be welcome.

The team showered and changed. Clay Wicks, probably my closest friend on the team since I joined it six months ago, announced, “Hey Andy. Taylor, Jake, Chris, Barry Lee and I plan to head over to Frank’s Smokehouse for dinner and some beer. You interested in coming?”

Frank’s Smokehouse was a barbecue place and pub near our training facilities. It served some of the best barbecue on this side of St. Louis ... and that is saying something in St. Louis.

“I don’t know,” I allowed. “I got to call my boys before bedtime. Maybe I’ll skip this one.”

“ANDREW!” Jake insisted. “You’re coming!” Jacob Sanders was a second year player and our #5 wide receiver. Jake didn’t get a lot of playing time.

“Drew, you gotta come,” Taylor Wood added. “Call your boys from the parking lot. That ‘cue ... you gotta come.” Taylor Wood was our rookie QB. Dylan Harris and Mark Shaeffer, his backup, never missed a game. Taylor hadn’t played a down on the field since preseason.

“Frank’s ribs ... that sauce ... You got to come, Andrew,” Chris Cobb, our second year, #3 tight end added. “I know you love those ribs.” I did.

“You’re going, Andrew,” Barry Lee Smith, our rookie nickel back stated. “You’re going even if I have to hog-tie you and throw you in the back of my pick-up.” My friends broke up at that. The image of a 5’-10”, 175 pound defensive back hog tying me, seven inches taller and more than forty pounds heavier was ludicrous.

“OK, I’ll go,” I relented. “Promise me you won’t make a fuss when I go outside to say good night to my boys. I don’t want them to forget about me.”

“You call them every night, Andrew,” Clay said. “They’re not going to forget you if you missed one night.”

“It’s important to me and to them,” I countered. “You’ll see when you have kids of your own.”

My friends conceded to my point. We finished dressing and headed off for Frank’s in our various cars or trucks. The six of us had become good friends in the past year. We were an incongruous lot at first glance, three big white guys, a burly black guy and two short black guys. Jake, 6-2”, 205 pounds, Chris, 6’-4”, 245 pounds and me at 6’-5”, 215 pounds, were the white half of our gang. Clay went 6’-3”, 250 pounds was African-American, as were our shorter black friends, Barry Lee and Taylor. Taylor was 5’-11” and 195 pounds. Barry Lee was generously listed as 5’-10” and 175 pounds. Hah! Only if he stood on a phone book and wore a wet towel when they measured and weighed him.

The six of us were the young guns brought in to help Dylan Harris bring the Rams respectability and show Dylan belonged among the elite quarterbacks in our league – that his name could be mentioned along with Brady, the Manning brothers, Brees, Rasmussen, Kaepernick and Joe Flacco, especially my fellow Blue Hen, Joe Flacco. Joe had become a friend and mentor since I helped our college team win the FCS National Championship. The Rams weren’t the “Greatest Show on Turf” anymore but we showed promise – much more than the previous decade of bad Rams teams.

The six of us hopped on I-70. The crowds from the stadium had mostly departed, so the roads were relatively clear. We followed the interstate past our training facility and got off at the first exit after the Missouri River. Frank’s BBQ & Pub was a few blocks north, facing the river. Nancy, the hostess, greeted us warmly. We were no strangers to this pub.

We grabbed a booth, perused the menu briefly and placed our orders. I went for the pork and beef platter. I had a light lunch seven hours ago, played a football game and was starving. The other guys ordered generous platters too. Soon we were chowing down on salads, potatoes, cole slaw and Frank’s delicious ‘cue.

A steady stream of patrons stopped by our table to congratulate us on our victory over the 49ers. Clay, Barry Lee and I were most recognized. Poor Taylor went totally unrecognized. Such is the lot of a free agent rookie QB at the bottom of the depth chart. We signed autographs, chatted with our fans and let them take our pictures as we ate.

We amiably analyzed our game as we enjoyed the relaxing meal. We are single twenty-somethings, so of course we scoped out the talent at the bar end of the pub. There was a nice selection of ladies here tonight. Some of the bolder ladies stopped by our table to flirt. The guys ate it up.

I noticed one lady over at the bar as we were eating. I caught her checking me out multiple times – me, not the whole group of guys. She gave me a smile and a small wave the last time I caught her staring. She was altogether quite attractive. She was probably around 5’-8” tall and well built. I doubted I would find Noah and Conner a stepmom at a pub but I might find someone to help me with my more immediate problem. I was a normal, red-blooded male of twenty-two and hadn’t gotten laid in over a month. I decided to give her a try after I finished my dinner. I sent a drink over to her. She gave me a big smile and waved me over to join her.

“Please join me,” she said with a big smile as she indicated the stool beside her at the bar.

“I’m Andrew Martin,” I replied as I sat down.

“I thought I recognized you,” she answered. “I knew the six of you...” chuckling, “ ... at your size and in this pub, you had to be Rams players. I’m Kelsey ... Kelsey Sullivan.”

“It’s very good to meet you, Kelsey,” I answered. “Are you a football fan? I’m slightly surprised you knew who I was.”

“You’ve done very well this season, Andrew,” Kelsey said. “I am a casual fan, but I do keep up with what’s going on with our team. I watched on TV when you scored that touchdown to win the game today. You were great ... such a big, strong man.” I noticed how she drew out the word ‘man’ to emphasize it. I hadn’t misread Kelsey’s intentions.

We chatted, getting to know each other better. Kelsey was twenty-one and a nursing student. She would graduate in May. She was from St. Louis. She shared an apartment about a mile away with another nursing student. The roommate was from Peoria and was home for the holidays.

Kelsey inquired about my background. She was curious about my connection to the Amish, which was minimal. The local press played up my Lancaster County, Pennsylvania Plain People background when I was drafted, much as the Denver press did with my brother, Kyle, who was nicknamed “Amish Lightning.”

The local press loved the ‘Cowboy throwing the ball to the Amishman’ angle in their stories about Dylan Harris and me. Dylan is from Austin, Texas, but he is more of a suburban than a rural Texan. I have no Amish blood but my dad’s side of the family is entirely Mennonite, though most of my relatives no longer attend that church. Kelsey was interested as I explained the difference between the Amish and the Mennonites.

We found we had another common interest, camping. Her family camped all the time when she was growing up. Mine did too. I was active in Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts and Venturers growing up. I just managed to finish my Eagle Scout award before the twins were born. Becoming a father took too much of my time when I was sixteen and seventeen to stay active in Scouting after my Eagle award.

Kelsey and I continued to get to know each other. I hadn’t misread her intentions earlier in the evening when I approached her. She was looking for a little fun that evening, same as me. This started out as a one-night-stand for me but I felt an unexpected connection with Kelsey. Could this become more than a roll in the hay?

I mustered my courage and decided to see. It was a few minutes after 8:30 PM and my goodnight call to my twin sons was overdue.

“I like you a lot, Kelsey,” I explained. “I think honesty is the best policy.”

“Certainly,” she agreed.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” I said. “I would love to take time to know you intimately...” She smiled at my suggestion. “ ... tonight. There is one critical thing I need to do before we consider going back to my place. I have to make a phone call.”

“You’re married?” Kelsey asked. I shook my head no. “Serious girlfriend?”

“I’m completely unattached,” I answered. Kelsey smiled in relief. “I need to call my twin six-year-old sons to say good night.”

“Six-year-olds?” Kelsey asked in disbelief. “I thought you would be like, twenty-two or three...”

“I will turn twenty-three in a couple weeks,” I answered. Kelsey stared at me in shock.

“You were...”

“Sixteen when they were born,” I confirmed. “A result of my misspent high school years.”

“Sixteen?” Kelsey replied. “That’s young to be a father. Why are you telling me all of this?”

“You’re gorgeous,” I answered. “I’d love to get to know you better, but for more than one night.”

“Whoa ... whoa ... whoa!” Kelsey stammered. “No. If you’re looking for someone to become a mom to your kids ... no!”

“I’m not looking for a mother for my children,” I protested. “You’re pretty. You’re interesting. I think we could hit it off if we gave us time to know each other better. That’s all I am looking for.”

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Kelsey replied. “It’s been interesting, Andrew. Thank you for the drinks and the conversation.” I didn’t try to change Kelsey’s mind.

“My pleasure,” I said as she stood and left. Clay caught the interaction and just shook his head at me. I shrugged my shoulders back. This was far from the first time I had been shot down by revealing my status as a father of two young boys. What the hell? I did want to find the right lady eventually to share my life and my sons’ lives. I couldn’t start a serious relationship by hiding my boys. They were too much a part of my life to do that.

I stepped outside to call Denver where I would have a little less noise to disrupt my conversation. I recognized my sister-in-law, Penny, immediately when she answered the phone.

“Penny, it’s Andy,” I stated. “Am I too late to say goodnight to the twins?” She laughed.

“They’re getting their jammies on under protest,” Penny replied. “They refuse to go to bed until you called. I’ll get them on the phone for you.”

“Daddy?” I recognized Noah instantly.

“Hey, buddy, are you giving Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop trouble about going to bed?”

“No, Daddy,” Noah answered. “We’re being good.”

“That’s what I expect,” I said.

Connor and I watched you p’ay [play] today,” Noah said. “You did good on that ‘ast touchdown.”

“Speak clearly, Noah.”

“You did good on that LAST touchdown, Daddy.”

“I wish you were here to see it,” I said. “Are you ready for bed now?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” Noah agreed.

“Good night, Noah,” I said. “Sleep tight. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Noah agreed.

“Put your brother on.”

“Hi, Daddy,” Connor chirped. “Good game today. I wish I could’a seen it with you.”

“Thank you, son,” I answered. “We’ll see each other tomorrow. Denver’s airport will be open again.”

“Aunt Penny took Noah, Hunter, David and me out sledding this morning on a big, big hill in the park near their house. It was fun!”

“That’s great,” I said. “Are you ready for bed, you little monkey?”

“Yes.”

“Good night,” I replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I love you, Connor.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

“Put Mom-Mom or Pop-Pop on the phone, please,” I asked. I confirmed the flight arrangements with my father. The airlines promised everything would be up and running again tomorrow so I could see my family.

I parked my Toyota at the airport short-term parking lot and took a shuttle over to the rent-a-car agency on Monday morning. I picked up an eight-passenger van for my family to use for the next week. I parked the van in the short-term parking lot and headed over to baggage claim about fifteen minutes before my family’s 11:09 AM flight was scheduled to land. Their flight was on time.

Three small boys raced from the down escalator twenty minutes later. My sister, Liz, properly Elizabeth, was chasing after them. Mom and Dad followed at a more leisurely pace.

“Daddy!” “Daddy!” “Andy!” the three chanted as they ran to greet me. I scooped Connor up in one arm and then Noah in the other. We exchanged hugs and kisses while my five-year-old brother, Hunter, hugged me around the waist.

“Nice game yesterday afternoon, big brother,” Liz exclaimed as we hugged. She gave me a wink and added, “Kyle scored three touchdowns trashing the Raiders.”

“I know,” I agreed. “My team needs to learn to walk before we run. We’ve come a long way this season.”

“Andrew, you look like you are in excellent health,” Mom declared as she hugged me.

“I should,” I answered. “The team has nutritionists and trainers on staff to make sure I am in peak health.”

“Good to finally be here, son,” Dad said as we hugged. “What’s the plan for the day?”

“We’ll pick up my car and the van I rented so we can get you and Mom over to your hotel and get Liz and the kids to my apartment,” I replied. “I have a video review of yesterday’s game at one o’clock this afternoon. That will take most of the afternoon. We’ll get together and have a nice dinner tonight.”

“Barbecue?” Dad asked, with a big grin on his face.

“You’re in St Louis, Dad,” I retorted. “Of course, we’ll have barbecue. You’ll love this place I have in mind.”

“Sounds like a plan, son,” Dad said.

“Are we going to get to see your training facility?” Mom asked. “I know it’s not too far from the airport.”

“It is nearby but it’s at a different exit on I-70 than the one we want,” I answered. “I thought we could go in tomorrow for the grand tour. The team has the day off and I plan to spend it playing tour guide.”

“That sounds nice,” Mom agreed. We had a forty minute wait until we gathered up everyone’s luggage. We loaded up the cars. Dad followed me out to I-70 in the rental van. I took everyone to my apartment first. Liz helped the kids move in while I led Mom and Dad over to their hotel. Traffic on I-70 wasn’t bad, for mid-morning. It took us about fifteen minutes to get over to St Charles, the west St. Louis suburb where I lived.

I headed over to Rams Park to grab a quick lunch at the cafeteria and then do my post-mortem on yesterday’s game. The review wasn’t too bad for me. The coaches dinged me for a couple goofs, but overall were pleased with my performance the previous day.

Mom and Dad took the family down to Kirkwood, in the southwest quarter of St. Louis, to the Magic House. I met them there after my day was finished. Noah, Connor and Hunter were bursting to tell me about the fun things they did at the children’s museum. They climbed a three-story beanstalk themed after the “Jack and the Beanstalk” story. They played with electricity, water and pumps, built a fire house in the construction zone, played music and used tools in the children’s zone. They learned about Lewis and Clark’s western exploration too.

“The coolest thing was the football part,” Connor gushed. “They taught us how quarterbacks throw a football.”

“They showed us what you and Uncle Ky do when you catch a ball,” Noah continued. “We got to race against Uncle Ky too.”

“You race lights on the floor so you can see how you compare to Kyle in the 40,” Liz added helpfully.

“Kyle was faster,” Hunter said, deadly serious.

“Our brother is bigger, older and stronger than you guys,” I responded. “You might catch up to him when you grow up.”

“Where is the barbecue place you raved about?” Dad interjected.

“It’s a few blocks south on Kirkwood Road,” I answered. “Follow me, I’ll lead the way.” Noah and Connor insisted they had to ride with me. Hunter insisted too. I had three seat belts in back, so that was fine. We pulled into the small parking lot for Richard’s BBQ a couple minutes later. Richard’s was a small, neighborhood place.

Dad had a big grin as he stepped out of the van. “A smoker in the parking lot? This place is authentic, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I agreed.

“How did you find it?”

“My receivers coach lives nearby,” I explained to Dad. We headed inside. Dad and I got racks of ribs to go with our cole slaw and corn bread. Mom, Liz and the boys went with pulled pork sandwiches. The meat was juicy and covered with a sweet, slightly tangy sauce. Coach Moore’s advice had been spot on. Of course, I already knew that. I snuck down to Richard’s one night last week to check the place out.