My husband refused to walk my 17-year-old daughter, his stepdaughter for nine years, at her high school senior night. “That’s something a real father should do,” he told her. But when her name was announced Thursday evening, her 79-year-old grandfather appeared with his walking cane and proudly accompanied her onto the court.

Down on the floor, the coach had come out with her phone to take the picture.

Travis and Kaylee stood in front of her poster. Him holding the rose. Her holding his arm. Both of

them red in the face.

Then Kaylee looked up at the bleachers.

She waved at Mason and me and her grandpa to come down.

Mr. Halvorson leaned into the microphone.

“Come on, Jodi. Bring ’em down here.”

And everybody laughed.

So we went down. Dad, Mason, and me.

Dad took those stairs a second time without one word of complaint.

That picture, the five of us at center court under the maroon and gold streamers, is the one on

our refrigerator now.

Mason’s holding his pumpkin volleyball poster upside down in it.

Nobody noticed until we got it printed.