Eli waited.
After a long silence, his father said:
“My dad was an artist.”
Eli stared.
“What?”
Darnell almost laughed at the reaction.
“Not like you.”
“What kind?”
“Signs.”
“Murals.”
“Lettering.”
“Airbrush.”
“He could paint anything.”
Eli looked astonished.
“You never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Darnell leaned back.
“Because talent wasn’t the part I remember most.”
Calvin Carter painted storefront signs in Aurora during the eighties and nineties.
Beautiful work.
Gold leaf.
Hand lettering.
Restaurant windows.
Church murals.
Custom motorcycles.
He was gifted.
People said so constantly.
He was also terrible with money.
He underpriced work.
Forgot invoices.
Bought supplies before paying rent.
Refused stable jobs because they would “kill the art.”
Sometimes money arrived.
Sometimes it did not.
Darnell remembered eviction notices.
Utility shutoffs.
His mother crying over groceries.
Calvin loved his children.
That was true.
He also believed love could compensate for instability.
It could not.
When Darnell was fifteen, Calvin disappeared for three months chasing a mural contract in Las Vegas.
He returned with less money than he left with.
Darnell never forgave that completely.
“He died when you were little.”
Darnell said.
“You were two.”
“I barely spoke to him by then.”
Eli looked toward his sketches.
“So you hate art because Grandpa was bad with money?”
“No.”
Darnell answered quickly.
Then stopped.
“Maybe I hate uncertainty because he called it freedom.”
That was more accurate.
Eli became quiet.
Darnell continued.
“When you started football, I understood the path.”
“You play.”
“You improve.”
“High school.”
“Maybe scholarship.”
“College.”
“Degree.”
“Even if football ends, you have something.”
“That felt safe.”
Eli looked at him.
“Football isn’t safe.”
Darnell almost laughed.
“Physically?”
“In every way.”
“What if I don’t get recruited?”
“What if I get hurt?”
“What if I hate it by senior year?”
Darnell stared.
Eli continued.
“You turned football into a guarantee because you understand it better.”
Darnell exhaled.
“Probably.”
Then:
“But art is not a guarantee either.”
“I know.”
“You really know?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Darnell looked at him.
“You know adults tell you you’re talented.”
“That feels like evidence.”
“It isn’t income.”
“It isn’t a job.”
“It isn’t insurance.”
“It isn’t tuition after this program ends.”
Eli’s face tightened.
Darnell continued.
“I’m not saying that to kill it.”
“I’m saying I need you to understand why I ask.”
Eli nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Then:
“I can understand that without letting you choose for me.”