“Crossing the yard to my truck, I got curious, so I wandered over toward the fence. The football team was practicing on the far eastern side of the field. I threw my bag in the back and walked through the gate toward the scrimmage. I didn’t necessarily want to see it as much as I wanted to smell and hear it. As I was walking, I heard a voice behind me. “You singing, Professuh?” I turned around to see Russell towering over me like Goliath. “Who, me? No, I’m just, uh . . . ” Okay, I lied. Russell ...smiled. “You was singing, Professuh.” His eyes widened, and a grassy, sweaty smile cracked his face. “Not really,” I dodged. “Who do y’all play this week?” “Professuh, that singing sounded good.” Russell raised his eyebrows and tried not to smile. “Sing some more.” “Russell, I can’t sing my way out of a wet paper bag.” “My daddy loved to sing. He liked blues and old hymns. Sang both so much he got ’em mixed up all the time. One minute he’d be singing ’bout a girl he once knew, the next it was the coming glory.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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