![]() ![]() ![]() Underneath that are the words Tom Zeeman Stadium, written in black and orange-the high school’s colors. There, above the gates, is the big letter Z, curved on the ends and stretched out so it’s in the shape of a football. ![]() I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I walk around the car to see it-the stadium named after my father-for the first time in twenty years. I know I grew up in a different era, but I truly don’t think I would have been so addicted to the thing if they had existed when I was her age, mainly because my dad kept me so busy that I wouldn’t have had time. My nerves are so shot right now that I don’t even bother telling her to live in the moment and not be glued to that device. I sigh and turn to our teenage daughter, Mollie, who’s leaning against the car with her phone up to her face. When our eyes meet, I know that’s his way of saying, It’s all good, Mom. I glare at my husband, who laughs and looks over at Tommy to make sure he’s safe and staying by our car while grabbing our stadium chairs from the back. She stops, like the little darling she is, while her brother, Tommy, who’s three years older, darts out without a care in the world. I reach for my daughter Aubree’s hand before she runs out in traffic. ![]()
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