Page 51 of Worth the Trip

“Absolutely.”

“You haven’t tasted mine.”

“Don’t need to.”

“That’s arrogance.”

“That’s faith.”

“In fish?”

“In my discernment.”

She cut a piece of snapper and placed it on the bread plate between us. “Taste it.”

I did.

Unfortunately, it was excellent.

Nolani waited with the patience of somebody who knew she was about to win.

I swallowed and took a drink.

“Well?”

“Respectable.”

“Respectable?”

“I’m protecting your humility.”

“You’re protecting your plate.”

“Both can be true.”

She laughed and shook her head.

I liked this.

The ease of it. The fact that conversation could move from stupid to substantial without either of us announcing the transition.

“What about football?” she asked. “Why coaching?”

There were several answers I could’ve given her. Competition. Structure. Leadership. Loving the game. All true. None complete.

I set my fork down.

“I like winning. I’m not gon’ sit here and lie in front of this good fish like that part don’t matter. But wins ain’t why I stay. I stay because boys turn into men while everybody watching the scoreboard, and too many people only know how to value them when they producing something. Speed. Strength. Grades. Tackles. Scholarships. Then somebody gets hurt, benched, scared, or starts struggling, and suddenly, the love come with performance metrics. I need my players to understand that jersey don’t create their value.”

Nolani’s fork paused above her plate.

“You make it sound bigger than football.”

“It is bigger than football. Football just gives me access.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“It’s practical.” She gave me a look. I smiled. “Can be both.”