Chapter 7: The Secret at the Bottom of the List
“Daddy, before you play, we need to talk about tomorrow.””
Jordan stood beside the coffee table, holding his little sheet of paper against his red hoodie. His expression was so serious that I slowly lowered my controller.
Across the room, Tasha stopped folding the blanket.
I looked at my son.
“Okay, buddy. What's happening tomorrow?””
Jordan glanced down at the paper.
Then he looked toward his mother.
Tasha raised her eyebrows.
“Why are you looking at me? You're the one with the list.””
Jordan nodded, apparently accepting that this was a fair point.
He turned back to me.
“Tomorrow is Sunday.””
I blinked.
“Yes, sir. Tomorrow is Sunday.””
“And you said we could do something together.””
I smiled.
“That I did.””
He looked down at his paper again, his small finger tracing the words he had written with his mother's help.
“Build a big racetrack,” he announced.
I relaxed against the sofa.
“Oh, that's what this is about?””
Jordan nodded enthusiastically.
“The biggest one ever.””
I laughed.
“Alright. We'll build a big racetrack.””
He didn't move.
I waited.
He continued staring at me.
I looked at the paper.
Then at him.
“There's something else, isn't there?””
Jordan nodded.
Tasha pressed her lips together.
I pointed at her.
“Baby, if you know what he's about to say, I need you to give me some warning.””
“I honestly don't know,” she said, although the smile on her face suggested that she suspected trouble.
Jordan took a small breath.
“Daddy, can we build it before you play your game?””
I considered the question.
It wasn't unreasonable. In fact, it was a perfectly good idea.
I had promised him that we would do something together, and he wanted to make sure it happened before I became distracted by something else.
Still, I glanced at the television.
Then at the controller.
Then at the clock.
“Sure, buddy. We can build the racetrack first.””
Jordan's face brightened.
“Really?””
“Really.””
He looked at Tasha.
“Mama, did you hear him?””
Tasha nodded.
“I heard him.””
“Can you write it down?””
I stared at him.
“Write what down?””
“That Daddy said we can build the racetrack before his game.””
I slowly turned toward my wife.
She was already reaching for her phone.
“Don't you dare,” I warned.
Tasha laughed.
“I'm not writing anything down.””
Jordan looked disappointed.
I leaned forward and held out my hand.
“Come here, little man.””
He walked over and climbed onto the sofa beside me.
I put an arm around his shoulders.
“Listen. You don't need to write everything down to make me keep a promise.””
Jordan studied my face.
“Even if you forget?””
That question caught me off guard.
I looked at him for a moment.
Then I nodded.
“Even if I forget, you can remind me. And if I promise you something, I should do my best to make it happen.””
He considered that.
“Okay.””
I kissed the top of his head.
“Deal?””
“Deal.””
He wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed me tightly.
For a moment, I forgot about the controller altogether.
Then Jordan pulled away, jumped off the sofa, and ran toward the kitchen.
“Mama! Daddy said we can build it before his game!””
Tasha called back, “I heard him the first time, baby!””
Jordan returned with a triumphant smile.
“Good. Now it's official.””
I dropped my head against the sofa cushion.
Tasha laughed so hard she had to sit down.
“Marcus, I'm sorry,” she said between laughs.
“But he gets that from you.””
I looked at her.
“From me?””
“Yes.””
“How?””
“You're the one who always says, 'Put it on the calendar so nobody forgets.''”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
She had me there.
At work, I kept reminders for meetings, deadlines, appointments, and tasks that needed to be completed. I relied on calendars because I knew how easy it was for a promise to disappear beneath the weight of an ordinary day.
Somewhere along the way, my son had taken that lesson and applied it to the most important thing in his world.
Time with his father.
I looked at the paper in his hands.
“Hey, Jordan?””
He turned.
“Yeah, Daddy?””
“Can I see the list?””
He hesitated before handing it over.
I examined the familiar words: EAT, CLEAN, PLAY.
Below them, in smaller letters, was a new line.
RACETRACK WITH DADDY.
Underneath it, Jordan had drawn two stick figures holding hands.
One was tall.
One was short.
Both had enormous smiles.
I ran my thumb across the edge of the paper.
“Did you draw this?””
He nodded.
“That's me and you.””
“I can see that.””
“That's your big head.””
Tasha burst out laughing.
I looked at my son.
“My big head?””
He nodded seriously.
“You're taller than me.””
I shook my head.
“Alright. Fair enough.””
Jordan pointed at the drawing.
“And that's your game over there.””
He had drawn a small rectangle beside the tall stick figure.
I stared at it.
“You put my game in the picture?””
“Uh-huh.””
“Why?””
He shrugged.
“Because you like it.””
That simple answer made me smile.
He wasn't trying to take away something I enjoyed.
He wanted to be part of my world, just as I wanted to be part of his.
I handed the paper back.
“That's a good drawing, buddy.””
He beamed.
Then he climbed down and placed the list carefully on the coffee table, directly beside my controller.
I watched him return to his toys.
Something about the way he positioned the paper stayed with me.
It wasn't a threat.
It wasn't a punishment.
It was a reminder.
I picked up my controller, but I didn't turn on the game immediately.
Instead, I called my son back.
“Jordan?””
He turned.
“Yeah?””
I held out my hand.
“Come sit with Daddy for a minute.””
He hurried over and climbed onto the sofa.
I turned toward him.
“Tomorrow, when we build that racetrack, I want you to show me exactly how you want it to look. No rushing. We'll make it as big as we can.””
His mouth fell open.
“Can we use the whole living room?””
I laughed.
“Let's not get carried away.””
“Half the living room?””
“We'll discuss the budget.””
He frowned.
“What's a budget?””
I glanced toward Tasha.
She was smiling.
I leaned closer to Jordan.
“A budget is how you figure out how much room you can take over before your mama tells you to move everything.””
Jordan giggled.
From the kitchen, Tasha called, “I heard that!””
I raised my voice.
“That's why I said it out loud!””
We all laughed.
For a few minutes, the house felt lighter than it had in weeks.
Then Jordan climbed down from the sofa and picked up his paper again.
He turned it over.
I watched him scribble something on the back.
“What are you writing now?””
He held the paper against his chest.
“It's a surprise.””
I leaned forward.
“A surprise for who?””
He grinned.
“For tomorrow.””
I glanced at Tasha.
She shrugged.
“I really don't know.””
Jordan carefully folded the paper and tucked it beneath the corner of the coffee table.
Then he walked away, humming to himself.
I finally picked up the controller.
But before I could start the game, my phone buzzed on the sofa beside me.
It was a message from my brother, Andre.
*You still coming to the family cookout tomorrow? Everybody's asking if you're bringing Jordan.*
I smiled and began typing a reply.
Then another message appeared.
*And don't forget what you promised Mom you'd help her with.*
I stopped typing.
Because I suddenly remembered that tomorrow wasn't just about a racetrack.
I'd promised my mother I'd help her move a heavy cabinet.
I'd told Andre I'd bring food to the cookout.
And I'd told Jordan that we'd spend the morning building the biggest racetrack he'd ever seen.
Three promises.
One Sunday.
I looked at the list on the coffee table.
Then I looked toward my son.
He was lining up his toy cars in perfect rows.
For the first time, I understood why he had wanted everything written down.
He wasn't trying to control my time.
May you like
He was trying to make sure there was room for him in it.
And I had a feeling that tomorrow would test how well I had learned that lesson.
