I adopted my best friend’s son after he abandoned him — years later, the boy invited him to a championship game and gave a speech that made me break down.

He said:

“His name is Grady Wolcott. He’s in the second row, in the navy suit. He left me on the twentieth of March, 2012, when I was four years old, eight hours after my mom died. He left a note on the counter. Four words.”

The coliseum made a sound I’ve never heard a room make.

“He never called. Not once in fourteen years. Not a birthday, not a Christmas.

“He sent me a message on the thirteenth of December this year. The state rankings came out on the first of December.

“Twelve days.

“I’ve got forty-one messages from him on my phone. I didn’t answer any of them until February. I’m going to read you one.”

And he read it. He read out: Whatever that man has given you, I can give you a hundred times more.

Then he said, “So here’s what he gave me.”

And this is where it stopped being about Grady.