Seeing your smile on TV always gets me. Always.
I could be intensely caught up in the game, yelling and screaming. But let that bright smile of yours flash on the screen, and it jolts me right out of the moment. I can’t be a fan when I see it. I can’t be lost in whatever is happening on the court. That’s because immediately I am overcome with warmth. All I am in that instance is your mom.
You are no longer Gary Payton II, or GP2, or Young Glove, or whatever they call you. You are just my baby. My little G.
You and your brother and sister all have that beaming smile. Now, my grandson — my little “Stinka Butt” — has one of those smiles, too. They all give me butterflies. That smile is a reminder of the joy you bring to my life. You are filled with such goodness. It just brews inside of you and gushes out. Everybody around you gets blessed by the joy you have within. That smile is like the logo for your heart. It is the mark of your enduring spirit and conquering kindness.
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