Father Knows Nothing

On Sunday I taught Six-Year Old Daughter how to ride her bike without training wheels. It was pretty satisfying stuff, but sprinting down the street wile bent over at a 45 degree angle and holding onto a speeding Strawberry Shortcake bicycle is not only exhausting but, even worse, it severely compromises my city cred. I’m afraid that a semi-regular exercise program only counts for so much when you’re kicking down the door of middle age. Despite the fact that I was obviously near death, all I got from Daughter were pitiful pleadings for just one more lap. Perhaps she got hold of my Benevolent Dictators, Inc. life insurance policy and discovered she is second in line for a payday and was looking to expedite a payout by giving me a fatal heart attack. You can get a ton of Disney schwag with that kind of coin.

In addition to a level of exhaustion that I am generally not accustomed to, there was a small piece of me that just wanted to sit on the patio in the sun and read the special summer movie supplement that was in the Sunday Times. What a hero. I try my best but I am imperfect.

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