𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐖𝐞 𝐆𝐨 (𝐮𝐡 𝐨𝐡)

18. Dad to dad

Raymond's POV

"As you sure?" My small, shaky voice squeaked out, betraying my nerves. My hands gripped the soft foam handles of my chrome blue bicycle so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I could feel the cool metal through the worn grips, a stark contrast to the warmth of my dad's steady hand on my back. His other hand was firm on the seat, ready to guide me.

"Come on, Ray Ray, you can't ride with training wheels forever. You already let Lana pass you," he teased, pointing to my little sister, Alana, who was already pedaling down the street towards Mom with ease.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I planted my feet on the pedals. "Okay, I'm ready," I finally said, my voice trembling just a bit.

It started with a gentle push, and before I knew it, I was speeding up, wobbling at first but quickly finding my balance. My heart raced as I pedaled harder, my legs burning with the effort. "Look, Dad! I'm doing it!" I exclaimed, the thrill of freedom and accomplishment washing over me as I made it up to my sister and mom. I squeezed the brakes, skidding to a stop right at Mom's feet.

"You surely did, son!" My dad's voice boomed from a distance, full of pride.

---

I sat in the dugout, gripping onto my metal bat like it was a lifeline. The cold steel against my palms did nothing to calm my nerves. We were down by one, and the game was about to end. It was up to me to lead our team to victory. "Raymond," I heard a familiar voice call from just around the corner of the dugout.

I stood up, my heart pounding in my chest, and walked over to where my dad stood by the gate, his presence instantly calming me.

"Yeah?" I looked up at him, trying to find reassurance in his eyes.

"Don't stress yourself, you got this." He adjusted my baseball cap, giving it a playful tap. "What if I don't score the home run? All that work would be for nothing," I muttered, frustration and doubt creeping into my voice as I threw my bat down in defeat.

"Then you would have still worked hard, and that's what matters. You think your boys care if you don't hit that home run? No. This is all fun, you don't need to win to be the best YOU can be," he assured me, his voice full of conviction.

"But you won almost every game you played," I sighed, feeling the weight of his legacy on my shoulders.

"Ray, you're not me. You're Raymond Miller, and if you keep working hard, you'll be better at ten than I was at twenty. Now go out there and make me proud," he said, placing his hand firmly on my shoulder. "And if you win, we'll go out and buy that limited edition card you've been wanting. And if you don't... well, we'll get it anyway," he added with a wink.

His words sent me off with a renewed sense of purpose. I grabbed my bat and walked back to the home plate, standing firmly in position. "Eyes on the ball, Raymond," I told myself, trying to drown out the noise around me.

The pitcher swung his arm back and released the ball, and in that moment, everything slowed down. I swung the bat with all the strength I had, connecting with the ball and sending it flying out of the park. I dropped the bat and took off running—first base, then second, then third. I turned to see the outfielders still chasing the ball.

Screw it, I'm going for home.

I sprinted towards the home plate, my teammates already cheering and running towards me. As I crossed the plate, they lifted me up, their voices a chorus of victory. I looked over at my dad, who was grinning from ear to ear, his pride unmistakable.

---

I sat in my car, taking a deep breath before stepping out. The memories of my childhood flashed through my mind, and I realized how much I had always relied on my dad's wisdom. Now, with Kimoni's due date inching closer and closer, my anxiety had doubled. I needed to talk to him—to hear his advice, to understand how to be the father I desperately wanted to be for our baby.

I finally mustered the courage to get out of the car and walked up the driveway to my parents' door. I rang the bell and waited, the familiar sounds of the house filtering through the door. The locks turned, and the door swung open to reveal my dad, dressed in his usual Saturday golf outfit.

"Hey Ray, what brings you by?" he asked, pulling me into a tight embrace.

"I just need to talk, Dad. I don't want to take up all your time—I know you go golfing every Saturday—but I really need some advice. I need to learn how to be a dad," I admitted, the weight of my words hanging in the air between us.

Without hesitation, he led me inside. We settled into the living room—me on the couch, him in his favorite lay-z-boy. "Raymond, you always get like this when something big is happening. Remember the wedding? You were a mess. 'Don't tell Kimoni I'm crying,'" he mocked me with a playful grin.

I couldn't help but laugh, thinking back to that day. "They were happy tears. I can't believe I almost lost her," I said, my voice growing quieter as the memories of those rocky times surfaced.

"We all make mistakes. I remember I wasn't exactly faithful to your mother for years, and for some reason, she stayed. And I'm not going to lie... I thought she was crazy for staying with me, until she actually left. Then I was broken. Couldn't do shit without her. Best believe, when she took me back, I never did it again," he said, his voice filled with regret and the wisdom that only comes from experience.

"If you ever do her like that again, Ray, I don't think she'll stay. We can't treat the women in our lives like that," he shook his head, his tone serious.

"I know, Dad. I'd never do that to Kimoni again. I've learned my lesson the hard way," I replied, feeling the gravity of his words.

He leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "Being a dad, Ray, it's about more than just being there. It's about showing up every day, even when you're tired, even when you're scared, even when you don't know what the hell you're doing. It's about making sure that little girl knows she's loved, protected, and that she has a father who's not afraid to admit when he's wrong," he said, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that told me he was speaking from the heart.

"And don't think you have to be perfect. You're gonna mess up. We all do. But it's about how you handle those mess-ups that counts. You gotta be honest, be real, and always put your family first," he continued.

"Like I just don't know, I don't want to ruin her?" I questioned if that was the right wording. "It's your first time being a dad, there's no hand book that comes with being a parent, shit I was making it up as the days came. I bet you didn't know that."
He eyed me. I looked at him and smirked.

"No I definitely knew, when mom worked extra hours, ice cream for dinner? Doesn't seem like you knew what you were doing" I told him. He shrugged. "But did you die?" He asked taking a sip from his beer can, throwing me an unopened one.

"Almost, you literally you left me at the Walmart by myself with no phone and I had to run home because it's was getting dark." I vividly remember being chased my a chihuahua .

"Okay, well it was too many of you guys to made sure I had all of ya, watch when you leave her at the park for the first time, watch what Kimoni does to you." He chugged his bear.

"Yeah she's crazy, like so crazy. She has this attitude that I just can't stay mad at, she's like a little chihuahua barking. I just laugh at her." "But she always keeps me in checks, she's always looking out for me, i almost ate a lobster and she was the one that reminded me that I was allergic."

"Your mom is the one that packs my gloves with my uniform, without her I'd probably lose a finger working construction."

I nodded, taking in his words, feeling the tension in my chest ease a little. "Thanks, Dad. I needed to hear that," I said, feeling a sense of calm wash over me.

"You're gonna be a great dad, Ray. That babygirl's lucky to have you. And remember, you've got me, your mom, and your siblings—we're all here for you," he said, standing up and pulling me into a hug.

I hugged him back, feeling more prepared than ever to face what was coming. As I drove back home.