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.

His shoes were polished.

He held his hickory walking cane in his right hand.

Without drawing attention to himself, he crossed toward the opposite end of the gym.

Then he stood beside Kaylee.

Travis turned and looked at me.

I said nothing.

A moment later, the announcer spoke.

“Number seventeen, Kaylee, escorted this evening by her grandfather, Mr. Duane Ostrem.”

My daughter slipped her arm through Grandpa’s.

Together, they began crossing the

 

court.

They moved slowly.

Dad couldn’t walk quickly anymore.

First his cane.

Then one foot.

Then the other.

The rubber end of his cane made a faint squeaking noise against the polished gym floor.

Suddenly, someone in the upper bleachers rose to their feet.

Then another row stood.

Within moments, the entire home crowd was standing.

Men who’d spent years hauling milk alongside my father.

Mothers and fathers.

High school students.

Even the visiting volleyball players joined the applause.