[GForce]

Austin was up early the next morning. His dad was already outside, boarding up the side of the garage. His mother was brewing coffee in the kitchen.

As was habit when he didn't know what to say, Austin stood in the doorway entering the room, shifting his balance from right foot to left and back again, making the floorboards creak to get his mother's attention, hoping she would start the conversation.

"Good morning, Dukes," she said, using a nickname he'd had since he was a baby, when he would clench his fists and pump his arms when excited, "Putting up his dukes," his father would say.

"Hi, Ma," Austin said softly.

His mother walked slowly over to him, kissing him on the cheek and holding him tight.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Everything will work out fine."

"It's OK, Ma," Austin replied. "I understand." He paused a while, waiting for his mother to head back to her coffee. He could talk to her, but he hated the sullen look she'd get on her face when the topic was unpleasant.

"How's Dad?"

His mother turned to him and tried to put on her best face. "He's out there already...has been since 5:30. He had a tarp in the garage we never used. Says he can double it up and patch the mat, make it OK..."

Austin hugged her from behind as her voice trailed off. He opened the screen door and made his way to the garage.

There was his dad, in jeans and an old Brooklyn Dodgers sweatshirt, kneeling next to the hole Austin had tore through the garage. He'd sawed down board to nail over the hole already, and had stitched the tarp, triple folded, to the back of the mat.

Austin stood next to him, speechless.

"Good thing I came out here early," his dad said. "Ya chipped the headlight."

"Sorry, pop."

His dad laughed. "Sorry? For doing what you do? Son, don't EVER apologize for anything you're working for, got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I thought maybe later we'd head over to the park, I'd catch for you."

Austin knew then how much his dad was hurting. Always by his side, always urging him on, his father hadn't been able to catch for him in years, once he threw too hard for his dad's hand -- wounded in WWII -- to take.

His dad didn't back down, of course. Hell, he was the toughest S.O.B. Austin ever knew. Austin had to tell him he wouldn't pitch to him anymore, after his dad's hand swelled to almost twice it's normal size following one session. He couldn't close it, and even today his handywork is extra effort because of the pain. But it always gets done, and he never complains.

"I can't throw much today, Pop," Austin said. "I threw a lot last night."

"I know, pal. Just wanted to help you out a bit."

His dad paused. "Just do something to help," he said, looking downward and starting to walk away.

"You always help me, Dad," Austin replied. "Always."

The two walked back toward the house, smelling the fresh coffee from inside.

"When you served, did you get scared?" Austin asked.

"No," he replied quickly. "No time to be scared. We had a job to do and we did it."

Austin knew his dad was telling the truth. But that bred a follow-up question.

"You ever been scared?"

As they approached the steps to the back porch, Austin's dad rubbed his shoulder firmly. He stepped ahead and held the back door open for his son. Austin stopped and looked his dad in the eye, awaiting an answer. When it came, it both shocked and relieved him.

"Not until now."

GH