BALLSY

     In a city full of backstabbers a prosecutor covertly moving in with a cop may not have been the smartest of ideas.  The premiere advantage of this living arrangement was being closer to Michelle and Kyera.   Preparation for Donahue and other cases made my time with them preciously scarce.  When Michelle was working Kyera was at my side.  To liven up a Thursday night I’d often ask:  “It’s just us tonight, do you want to have a party?” This invitation was never rejected.   As I chauffeured her through the supermarket Kyera picked out everything her heart desired and tossed in the shopping kart behind her.  Then with her attention diverted by the one prized item I left in her arms I’d make the necessary returns, help the cashier bag the rest, and make a smooth exit.  Back home we’d feast on pizza or chicken nuggets and I would promise her a bedtime movie if she’d eat some veggies.   With after-dinner Jiffy Pop exploding like automatic weapon fire on the stove top, Kyera stood shuttling jelly beans into her mouth with one hand and lighting up the DVD player with the other.  When the first cord of Blister in the Sun struck we dropped everything and I took hold of her wrists, swinging her tiny feet off the ground in carefree circles of endless laughter.

     Bright as the sun she was beautiful and growing so quickly.  When Kyera visited with me at my office the most difficult part was tearing her away from my secretaries and co-workers.  She loved to chat and had no shortage of those who would engage her.  From the front desk of the dentist’s office to the gym or in line at CVS she held court to captivated audiences.   On Saturday afternoons we stopped by my grandmother’s to visit Nana and my Aunt Paula.  At this point Multiple Sclerosis had left Paula incapacitated and bed ridden.  Midway through our visit I'd carry her out to the kitchen where Kyera stood ready to assist Nana wash her hair.  In spite of the depth of this situation Kyera always kept us entertained.  If Aunt Josie were alive there was no doubt she would have presided over Kyera’s fan club.

     Saturday evenings we were off to Fun World, an indoor arcade/amusement park that became one of our favorites.  On the second floor they had an enormous obstacle course complete with shoots tunnels, rope–ladder–bridges and a pool of colored plastic balls you could almost get lost in.  I never read the rules but observed most parents watching their kids from the sidelines.  I, on the other hand, slipped off my Nikes and dove right in.

     It wasn't unusual to hear kids call out to ensure none of their courageous endeavors went unnoticed.  Basking in the pool of balls, with everything below my shoulders submerged, I watched Kyera ascend a rope ladder negotiated a covered bridge and swoosh down a slide into a group of children.  Straining to regain her in my sight I could hear young voices yelling, one rising up: “Daddy, Daddy!” Still looking, Kyera finally pushed her way out of the group stopping short of the pool’s edge and with outstretched arms and eyes trained on me continued: “Daddy, Daddy, catch me!”

     Reclined on my back like an otter it took a moment, but when the surreality lifted I pulled myself to the surface and mirrored her gesture.  Without hesitating Kyera leapt down into my arms and for the longest time I held her, much tighter than I had before.