A Father First: How My Life Became Bigger Than Basketball Read Online Free Page B

visit, too, and he always made Zaire feel more comfortable and able to enjoy the fun.
    Dada and I high-five and low-five as I tell him how much I appreciate his help. So proud of himself, he struts off, then stops to show me one of the latest dance moves from Chicago.
    Zaire, never one to stand still, waits excitedly to confirm that everybody’s going to the Heat game the next day. When I assure him that the game is early enough for the three boys to attend, he does a couple of dance moves he’s learned from Dada to show his pride. Everyone cracks up. Not a shy kid whatsoever, Zaire has that ability to let his spirit lift the spirit of others. In fact, before I can say much more, he starts making small talk with the other adults in the room—like a seasoned conversationalist. He throws in comments on everything from the latest YouTube music video he’s seen to traffic on Biscayne Boulevard. And he’s hip, too, coming up with his cool little catchphrases to respond to the adults, saying, “Yeah, yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”
    “Zaire,” I start to laugh, “you don’t know nuthin’ ’bout that. You just makin’ comments like you know.” I hug him again, amused. He shrugs, enjoying my admiration, full of his nine-year-old swagger.
    I swear, if I could live my childhood over, I wouldn’t mind being Zaire Wade at his age. He’s an all-around cool kid, with a lot of personality, excellent athletic skills, and a real gift of gab, all on top of being very handsome. Not that I take the credit. Yeah, I see some Wade in his expressions and features but he has his mom’s eyes and lips. And that outgoing, talkative side of him is much more like her than me.
    Zion got his mom’s smarts big-time. But as far as looks go, he’s a mini-me. Pictures of me at his age look so much like him we have to check closely to tell who is who. He scans the room, making sure nobody is standing close by, and motions me closer to say something. When I lean down to hear, he jumps up again, hugging on my neck, laughing.
    “Zion, you are awesome, ya know that?” I say and watch his face light up.
    “I know,” he nods.
    Like his brother, Zion has major confidence. For someone not even four years old, he is smart beyond his years. Sometimes too smart. It’s crazy how well he can converse with adults. Being a Gemini, though, he can be as standoffish as he can be friendly.
    Unlike Zaire, who is Mr. Mayor, holding court wherever he goes, Zion looks at everyone with a crooked eye. Takes him a while to warm up. When he does, though, he loves you unconditionally. But he’s very careful in general, which to me, someone who now most likely has some trust issues of my own, might be a good thing. In some ways, because the boys were prevented from seeing me for long periods, Zion and I are just getting to know each other. We’re definitely going to be making up for lost time.
    One of the many special traits that I admire about Zion is how he is just his own little person. He doesn’t feel the need to be as passionate about basketball—say, like Zaire and Dada, who are both getting into it as players. Especially Zaire. Zion likes getting into the mix but apparently he has his own dreams. I’m not sure what they are yet, but whatever he throws himself into in the coming years, I mean—watch out world!
    When our arriving travelers hear snacks being offered, the three boys dash off together to the kitchen to see what Rich has cooking.
    This is when Tragil and I have a chance to talk and hug again in relief and joy. A few people close to us understand the hell of these last several years but she is perhaps the only person who has been there at almost every step of my journey. Right now, Tragil knows that I have my own process for making decisions and that I’m intensely thinking through how to talk to the boys about the custody news. She also knows that part of that process, painful as it is, involves reflecting on the past and our