“How many do you think I should do?”
“Ten,” my son tells me.
“I can’t do ten! Seven.”
“Eight,” he says. “Or nothing.”
I park in the grass next to the soccer field, open the mini-van door and let him out. He dashes to join a dozen other nine- and ten-year-olds who jump, whirr and kick.
Do I remember dashing? Was there a time when my legs ached to run? They feel so hesitant now, so timid.
There are twelve vehicles parked in a zig-zag line along the east end of the church field where YMCA Co-Ed Youth Soccer Team #85 practices once a week. All but two of the assembled cars, mini-vans and SUVs are occupied by adults, many of us are cuddling up with our smartphones or staring through the windshield at the…
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