Last night, I spent the night at my coach's house.
Here's a little backstory: I look towards my lacrosse coach as a father. Like if I could somehow reverse 22 years and consult with God before I was concieved, it would've been him. He's everything I would want my real father to be. Ofcourse in absence of a father/son relationship, I get my fathering from him. He's got two kids of his own; a daughter and a son.
His son now goes to college in Florida and HATES it when people sleep over in his room. Mind you there isn't anything in there but a pullout couch, three dressers and a couple of teen posters, but I guess it's the fact that it's HIS room.
Back to the story, I slept in his room anyway. More like I layed down. Eyes wide open, mind spinning out of control. Wondering what would life would be if I were my coaches son. Wondering if I would be able to go to all those places I hear them talking about. Bragging about the food in Spain. Talking about how high the tallest building in Tokyo is. Debating who tried what food in Toronto and what it reminded them of. Idolizing coach comming to my lacrosse games, sitting in the bleachers with a "Jamaal's #1!" poster. Proud. Happy. Bragging to everytone about how I was his son every time I made a big play or would look up at him. Wondering how it feels to be on the recieving end of a warm, sincere hug. Hearing him say "I love you". Not for any real reason, just because he did and that I was HIS son.
Am I wrong for wanting this?
9:11 p.m. - 2010-07-06
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