The boys and I were out throwing the football yesterday afternoon, playing rotating positions. It’s a straighforward game. One person throws, the other receives, and the third defends. Each configuration gets three downs to make a TD, and then you start over with people in different positions.
We were having fun with it, but when some neighborhood kids showed up to play, I excused myself.
“Why?” one said.
“Work,” my youngest answered. Actually, that wasn’t why. I was just leaving because I thought I’d be in the way.
“I hate work,” one of the kids said.
“Yeah,” a third answered. “Why do dads have to work all the time, anyway?”
Wow. Wake-up call heard.
“I can work later,” I said, picking up the football. “What are the teams?”