Dancing Barefoot by Wil Wheaton Page B

look at the backyard, run my
     hand along the slide.
    â€œGoodbye,” I say.
    I walk back into the house, and I help my dad load the china cabinet into the car. It is
     heavy and cuts into my hands as I lift it. I’m nervous about dropping it.
    Aunt Val’s daughter comes out of the house. I want to scream at her for selling off this
     enormous part of my childhood, but I don’t. I continue tying down the cabinet, tell her
     goodbye and get into the car.
    We pull out of the driveway and drive down the street for the last time.
    I speak effusively with my dad on the way home. I talk about the kids. I talk about work.
     I talk about the Dodgers, and I ask lots of questions about when I was a kid. I want to
     cherish this time with him, make the most of it. I don’t want to waste any of the time we have
     together.
    When we get to their house with the china cabinet, my mom asks me how it was being at Aunt
     Val’s house.
    â€œTough,” I say.
    She understands.
    We unload the china cabinet. My dad hugs me tightly and thanks me for helping with him. I
     tell them that I love them and I drive home, silent and alone.

Chapter 2. Ready Or Not, Here I Come!

    I stand in the kitchen making dinner, and listen through the open window to my stepkids
     playing whiffle ball in our front yard. They’re actually playing nicely together, not being
     overly competitive. It’s a rarity these days, and I enjoy hearing them have fun together. It
     takes me back to simpler, happier times.
    Nolan stands over a patch of dirt which represents home plate, while Ryan hurls the ball
     toward him.
    Ryan always tries to throw the ball too hard (and usually has trouble finding the strike
     zone,) so Nolan just sits there, letting the ball bounce off the house behind him.
    Nolan comes in for a drink of water and I tell him, “It sounds like you guys are having a
     great time out there. Tell you what: you keep up this good attitude and I’ll come out and play
     with you.”
    Nolan does a little hop and says, “COOL!” before he runs back outside. I hear him tell
     Ryan, “Wil says he’ll come play with us!”
    They’re both excited to play with me . . . that’s cool. I’ve been really busy these past
     few weeks, finishing up my first book, Just A Geek , so I haven’t been
     able to spend very much time with my family, at all. The kids are getting to that age where
     they want to hang out one minute, and the next minute I’m so incredibly uncool they can’t even
     stand to be in the same room as me. Hearing the genuine excitement in their voices makes my
     heart swell.
    Dinner is really easy tonight: It’s a curried-tofu-with-rice dish. I put the rice into the
     rice cooker, cut the tofu into cubes and put them in the pan. I dump a bunch of curry over
     them, ask Anne to keep an eye on the stove, and race out to play.
    I’m a 30 year-old stepfather, and I’m racing through my “chores” to go play outside. I
     smile.
    When I get there, one of Ryan’s friends (who is also named Ryan) has come over to play, so
     we immediately separate into teams: Nolan and me against the Ryans.
    Nolan steps back up to the plate and Ryan proceeds to walk him. He then walks me, then
     Nolan again and we quickly load the bases with ghost runners. The sun is rapidly sinking into
     the mountains to the west and the ball is getting hard to see, so I suggest that we call the
     game so the Ryans can have a few at-bats. Nolan agrees. We send our ghost runners back down to
     Triple-A, and take our outfield positions on the grass and in the street.
    Nolan pitches a few balls to Ryan, but it’s really too dark to play any longer. Like every
     other time we’ve had to call a game on account of darkness, I resolve to install lights over
     our front lawn so we can play at night, local building codes and my wife’s desire for a normal
     suburban house be