Thoughts while sitting on a hillside while my son practices soccer. The sun feels glorious on my skin. Please no one talk to me. Please no one talk to me. I just want to read my book and jot down my random thoughts.
What if for summer vacation we did something crazy — like Ocean City, Maryland, or California? I should have bought the six piece chicken tender. The four piece just won’t hold me. I am man. Must eat food. Lots and lots of food.
These kids are doing burpees, push-ups, and running sprints in succession in the field behind my son. I would be vomiting after the push-ups and burpees. I would be burping after the burpees. I don’t do burpees simply because the name reminds me of burping.
My son loves soccer like I love basketball. Soccer is super basic at this age. No offsides. No goalie. Just a lot of running up and down the field kicking the ball and kicking each other in the shin. No strategy really. My kind of game at this age.
Why is there no youth kickball sport? What kid doesn’t love kickball? Why is this no such sport for the youth of America, for the youth of the world?
Come back, sun. I miss you and the glory you bestowed upon my skin. My vision is failing.
When my son starts flossing, I can’t help but think of this video:
Yeet or be yeeted. Kids are insane.
Overheard: “Tigers don’t wear shoes.”
This breeze would feel nice if the glorious sun wasn’t hidden behind a cloud.
I need pants.
A kid just burst out crying. He sounds like Ralphie’s little brother in A Christmas Story when he can’t put his arms down:
Why didn’t I wear pants? Suck it up cold leg boy. You used to wear shorts to school in the winter.
On cue, here comes the sun. You are glorious o’ bright orange ball of fire in the sky. I worship you. You are a majestic source of warmth and love.
My wife and I have talked about moving to California — San Diego to be precise. I know nothing of San Diego except there’s nice weather and the glorious sun and a naval base and the Padres.
Adults would be considered clinically insane if we behaved like children. The world would be a lot more fun though. The pros outweigh the cons. Adults are entirely too serious and they whine and complain just as much, only in a different way they don’t realize is whining.
My son’s girlfriend is here watching him practice. Her name is Olivia. More like I-Love-Eyah.
Don’t make eye contact with adults, I always say. They’ll talk to you.
Ain’t no party like an S Club Party:
Don’t forget to return shoes to UPS drop-off.
There is a dog without hind legs with some sort of wheelchair-type contraption buckled to his hips playing with a golden retriever in the field behind the kids’ soccer practice. It’s pretty amazing to watch the dog run and play. This is what life should be.
Henry’s birthday is tomorrow. He requested a real boomerang from Australia. In the interest of my son keeping all his teeth, we purchased a plastic boomerang from Amazon. I once had a real boomerang from Australia. Bo Tucker gave it to me. I almost decapitated myself in the field outside JMJ Elementary. It was glorious — like this glorious sun.