Friday night was the first time during this bathwater autumn that I actually felt stingingly cold. The sun slipped quickly out of reach and it was only 4:45. My Heels-devoted brother had already been texting me suggestions of who to heckle.
De'Mon, battling, deep breaths, pushing forward. Clint, breaking away for an uncontested DUNK.
what does Clint have on his face?
Phone. Buzzing. All. Night. Love. It.
In the midst of the pre-game madness in one of college basketball's most historic arenas, my father and I chewed Chick-fil-a and took it all in. I don't remember what sparked him to say it, but suddenly he opened his mouth and spoke: "Thank you for going to Davidson, Claire."