After Saturday morning soccer, Max and I usually hang out to play for another hour or so. Last weekend he and I and some other kids were kicking balls against the plywood wall with the goal posts painted on.
I’d like to think I’m one of the “athletic dads”. As such, I have fun playing and running and stuff, not just sitting in a beach chair and waiting for the games to be over.
Accidents happen when you’re mixing it up with a pack of five year old. In this case, a stray ball hit me in the back of the leg. No big deal. No harm no foul. etc.
“HAHAHAHA… I HIT THAT OLD MAN RIGHT IN HIS BIG FAT BUTT!!!!”
Whoa. What old man? That poor guy, that kid should probably… HEY!
“Pardon, me?”, I said.
“Huh, what?”, said the tiny little offender.
“Where is the old man with the big fat butt?”, I asked.
“Oh. Ummm. I was just talking to myself.”
“So, you’re and old man with a big fat butt?”
“I have to go now.”
That’s RIGHT! I WIN! WOOOOO!
U-S-A!! U S A!! YOU ESS EIGH!!!!