My 9-year-old walks around the house with her little flat chest poked out, making clear in word and deed that she thinks she’s smarter, stronger, and faster than me. After last night’s The Parents vs. The Kids’ Soccer Team knock-down, drag-out soccer brawl (“game” is much too tame a word), I think she might be right.
At least about the stronger and faster part.
The score was 7 to 1, the ‘rents.
In theory, we won.
My shoulder, back, right shin, and left elbow remind me of a much different reality.