Hello, my name is Scott Drigs and I have a problem.

I never meant for it to be like this. I was a father, I was a husband, I was a coach, I was a family man. It started out innocent enough. I would wait while the kids parents took their sweet time to show up. An hour or more was very frequent. We would just sit and chat, my son Frankie, our pitcher Danny, and myself.

A year after my son died I went back to coaching, I felt like I owed it to him. Only now, it was just me and Danny chatting. It started with an elbow nudge one day, an arm around the shoulder another, a kiss the next. This continues until one day I have him behind a dumpster and I’m holding his mouth closed while I finish.

I smile and wave to his father when he finally shows up. We chat about nothing in particular and they leave. On the drive home I can’t think of anything except the tears in Danny’s beautiful blue eyes and how he smelled just like Frankie.

Hello, my name is Scott Drigs and I have a problem.